


A Historic Love

by KittieHill



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anderson Is a Dick, Angst, Annoyed Mycroft, Appendicitis, Awkward Sexual Situations, Bathroom Sex, Best Friends, Bets & Wagers, Bottom Greg, But they're idiots, Candles, Cluedo, Coitus Interruptus, Coming In Pants, Cuddles, Cuddling, Dancing, Discussions of Drugs, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Erectile Issues, Failed Phone Sex, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Time, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Hiding in Cupboards, Horny Sherlock, Humour, Intercrural Sex, Interruption, John Bottoms, John is a Very Good Doctor, Letters, Little bit of OOC crackyness, Love, M/M, Making Love, Making Up, Mary is mentioned, Masturbation, Mention of Mystrade, Mummy Holmes is having a party!, Mycroft Embarrassing Sherlock, Mycroft Plays the Piano, Mycroft's Meddling, Mystrade fluff, Oral Sex, Orgasms, Panic Attacks, Photographs, Porn, Porn Watching, Practice Intimacy, Prostate Play, Realization, Riding, Rimming, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Rutting, Sad Sherlock, Sassy Mrs Holmes, Sharing a Bed, Sherlock Plays the Violin, Sherlock's Childhood, Sherlock's Father's death, Sickfic, Singing in the Shower, Slightly OOC Mycroft?, Spooning, Storms, Suit Shopping, Sweetness, Talking, Toasting, True Love, Wills, angelos, brief mention of torture, bum touching, but pretend the Christmas thing didnt happen, emotional mycroft, exercise, fluffy fluff, its a Kittie Story, marriedlock, miley cyrus - Freeform, mystrade smut, of course it has coming in pants, sherlock sulks, sloppy kisses, smut to follow, they both love each other, trying to be quiet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-03-26 02:12:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 53,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3833146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittieHill/pseuds/KittieHill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Decided it was time for another multi-chapter epic. I've never done a fake/pretend Johnlock story before so thought I'd attempt it, as usual there will be angst, comfort, humour (hopefully), sweetness and fluff. </p><p>Title is taken from the Tudor's soundtrack, https://youtu.be/N6m6-kwg_U4</p><p>Beta'd by<br/><a href=""> Iriya</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was beta'd by the wonderful Iriya who is helping make sense of my nonsense!

John carried the grocery bags up the stairs and stilled at the voices emanating from the living room; sighing deeply the doctor pushed open the door and walked into the kitchen without looking towards the two Holmes brothers who sat glaring at one another across the room.

“I won’t do it” Sherlock insisted angrily, his voice steely and determined.

“You’ve been asked for personally, both of you have” Mycroft replied looking bored and annoyed towards his younger sibling.

“A case?” John asked from the kitchen where he was putting away the bags of rice and pasta and adding the milk to the fridge.

“Not quite” Mycroft sneered towards the doctor, “an invitation of sorts”

An invitation wasn’t unusual; occasionally after high profile cases the pair would be invited to an honorary gala or ball in their names which was always turned down by Sherlock. John assumed it was something similar. Mycroft stood and walked towards John, handing him the gilded and expensive looking invitation.

_Ms E Holmes invites you to a week-long event to celebrate her 70 th birthday_

“Ms Holmes? Your mother?” John asked quizzically,

“You really have picked up Sherlock’s powers of deduction” Mycroft quipped from his seat where he had returned “extraordinary”

John glared at Mycroft and then at Sherlock “I don’t see what the trouble is”

“The _trouble”_ Sherlock emphasised the word with a spiteful hiss, “is that my mother believes that we have been a couple since my return.”

John’s brain went offline for a few moments before he blinked at Sherlock and Mycroft.

“Why does she think that?”

“Any correspondence I sent whilst away was intercepted by Mycroft’s minions and taken to the Holmes Manor. As I constantly asked after your well-being, my mother could only have assumed there was a romantic attachment,” Sherlock blushed “which was not made clear to me until this afternoon”

“And you didn’t think to set her straight?” John glared at Mycroft.

“Why would I do that?” Mycroft smiled condescendingly

“Because he’s your brother? Because I’m not gay? Because your mother has a right to know?” John almost shouted before clenching his fists and releasing them numerous times, a tick which Sherlock knew meant he was angry and frustrated.

“I’m sorry John,” Sherlock sighed, “I’ll inform her immediately.”

“No. You know what? Don’t bother,” John insisted, looking at his best friend’s dejected body language, “I’ll be your boyfriend for that week.”

“You’ll what?” Sherlock gasped and blinked towards John, “John, have you lost your mind?”

“We’re practically married anyway Sherlock” John grumbled as he turned to put the frozen peas into the freezer “pretending for a week won’t make much of a difference”

Mycroft seemed pleased with himself and stood to leave before Sherlock grinned and cleared his throat.

“Well, if my partner has been ordered to attend I can only assume yours has too?”

“My what?” Mycroft gasped and turned, narrowing his eyes at Sherlock.

“Don’t play coy, Mycroft” Sherlock grinned, aware he had the upper hand in the conversation, “I shall inform Mummy that Lestrade will be joining us. I’m sure she’ll be delighted”

“I don’t… I don’t think that’s appropriate,” Mycroft stuttered, looking at John for help and realising none would be coming. John threw Sherlock’s mobile phone to him and watched as Sherlock speed-dialled his mother who answered on the second ring.

“Hello, Mummy” Sherlock smiled sweetly, just to annoy Mycroft further. “Yes, John and I will both be attending your birthday, of course… yes, I’m sure it will be lovely… oh, but it reminds me, Mycroft mentioned how much he would miss Gregory whilst he was away for the week… oh, yes, I think opening the invitation to the DI would be a perfect idea! You’re so clever, Mummy” Sherlock hid a laugh and glared at Mycroft. “I will make arrangements and ensure that Lestrade knows, okay mummy see you next week.”

The phone was disconnected and Sherlock sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers under his chin.

“I rather think we’re even, brother mine.”

* * *

 

Mycroft had flounced from Baker Street angrily to plot how to get Lestrade out of his week-long invite whilst John and Sherlock spent the first few minutes in awkward silence.

“So…” John started before trailing off,

“Yes.” Sherlock blushed and picked up his violin.

“Boyfriends,” John continued.

“Yes,” Sherlock replied.

“Sherlock, I don’t want to make this weird between us afterwards. We need to talk about it first,” John insisted as he flicked on the kettle.

Soon the two men were sitting opposite one another in their chairs and sipping boiling hot tea as they planned their questions. John began first,

“Have you ever been in a relationship?” the doctor asked carefully,

“Define relationship” Sherlock replied.

“I don’t know. Boyfriends, girlfriends? Sex? Intimacy?” John continued until his face flushed and he stared at his teacup.

“John” Sherlock started “When we met I told you it wasn’t really my area and that was true; I’ve never been in a relationship nor have I wanted to. I have had sex previously but not for a long, long time”

“Right” John nodded “but you are…”

“Gay? Yes.” Sherlock shrugged. “Obviously”

“What do you mean obviously?” John laughed “I’ve known you for years and you’ve never once hinted towards a sexuality or preferred gender”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and shrugged. “It was obvious if you knew where to look.”

“Oh, let me guess, your shoelaces? Or the way you turn up your collar?” John grumbled angrily, feeling that Sherlock was mocking him.

“No… the gay pornography on my laptop” Sherlock chuckled before taking a swig of his tea in time to watch John almost choke on his own.

“Christ,” the older man laughed, “Well… yeah, I suppose that was an obvious clue. I guess your last sexual partner was a man?”

“Yes” Sherlock nodded. “I deleted his name to allow more information to be stored on Chlorophyta algae but I’m fairly certain he was male.”

John chuckled and rolled his eyes. “When was this?”

“Erm…” Sherlock thought back, checking the calendar which hung on the wall of his mind palace. “14th March 1997”

“Wow” John mumbled, “that’s a long time ago”

The two flatmates had never discussed personal information like this before and John found himself intrigued at how much Sherlock was willing to share; he crossed his legs and looked across at his friend who was draining the last of his tea and standing up to click the kettle on again.

“You do realise,” Sherlock said softly from behind John “we’ll be expected to share a bed.”

“Not a problem, we’ve done that on stakeout’s before now,” John shrugged, obviously they had only shared the bed for one night at a time but he was sure he could carry on with life despite sharing for a week.

“And… intimacy,” Sherlock blushed. “Nothing much, I can’t imagine my mother would want gory details of our imagined sex life but perhaps holding hands or occasional touches.”

“Fine,” John continued, “it doesn’t faze me, Sherlock”

“You’re taking this a lot better than I expected. I calculated a 63% probability of you punching either me or Mycroft… obviously I was hoping for the latter.” Sherlock smiled as he poured the fresh tea into his cup and then returned for John’s, refilling his.

“As I said, we’re practically married anyway” John grumbled, “just without the sex… which is surprisingly like my last marriage.”

Sherlock stilled and flushed at John’s slipped detail; they hadn’t really discussed Mary since she had disappeared into the night a year before. John had found he was unable to forgive Mary for shooting Sherlock and left the marital home to move in with Sherlock once more. He heard from Mycroft that the baby was a lie, shattering John’s trust completely and causing him to emotionally break down for the first time in a long time.

He only recovered thanks to Sherlock’s constant vigil and friendship. Mycroft and his minions had their eyes open for her re-emerging but so far it had been quiet.

“Perhaps… we should practise the intimacy thing?” Sherlock whispered bashfully, “I have no prior knowledge or experience on how to be in a relationship and I need to convince my family that we really are together. Regardless of what I said, my mother isn't an idiot.”

“Okay let’s practise” John suggested “let’s move to the sofa and begin lesson one.”


	2. Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now getting smutty! 
> 
> Now Beta'd by the wonderful Iriya.
> 
> Also, I'm aware that the story may be a bit juddery and slightly off kilter but i need the background info for future chapters.
> 
> Please comment!

John flicked on the TV as they passed and sat in his usual position with one arm across the arm of the sofa and the other resting across the back. He gestured for Sherlock to join him and sniggered when Sherlock took his seat at the furthest corner from John,

“Well, you need to come closer,” John smiled as he watched Sherlock awkwardly wriggle towards him. John wrapped an arm comfortingly around Sherlock’s shoulder and pulled him closer until Sherlock’s cheek was pressed against John’s heartbeat. “That’s better.”

“Oh,” Sherlock mumbled and flushed pink as he felt the heat of John’s body flooding through his skin.

“Okay?” John asked as he tapped the remote and scrolled through the TV shows, “anything in particular you’d like to watch?”

Sherlock shook his head and sat silently as John stopped on a documentary about Life on Death Row; the two men sat quietly watching the programme until Sherlock began to argue with the detectives. John rolled his eyes and then gave himself a slight push to overcome the urge of stroking his fingers through Sherlock’s hair to calm him, something he had always wondered what it would be like.

“W-What are you doing?” Sherlock asked surprised.

“Intimacy,” John said, “Just relax.”

Sherlock attempted to relax but found that although he enjoyed the sensation, one part of his body was extremely interested in proceedings. Angling his hips away from John’s gaze he ingeniously thought of a way to hide the bulge and grabbed the union jack pillow, placing it over his crotch.

“Natural reaction,” John whispered into the curls, “Not a smooth way of hiding it though.”

“Oh.” Sherlock couldn’t stop the heat that crept into his cheeks and hoped that John wouldn’t see it. His whole body felt like it was on fire. “Sorry.”

“S’okay,” John shrugged as he settled back down to continue watching the TV.

Sherlock eventually relaxed into John’s warm embrace and used his long, callused fingers to trace patterns onto the T-shirt and flannel trousers which John was wearing instead of pyjamas. Sherlock catalogued every tiny moment; the smell of John ( _tea, lingering deodorant and his unique scent)_ and the warm sensation beneath his skin ( _John’s body temperature, the movement of his expanding lungs, his heartrate whilst relaxed)_. His mind quieted to a soft hum allowing him to sit quietly and enjoy the TV programme which John was clearly interested in.

“This is quite good,” Sherlock admitted.

“The show or the cuddle?” John asked with a cheeky smile as he winked at Sherlock, causing the detective to blush.

 

* * *

 

John had expected the rush of anger and fury over Mycroft’s refusal to set Ms Holmes right to begin immediately but found that despite his frustration; he wasn’t shocked or appalled at the idea of being Sherlock’s boyfriend. He still considered himself a straight man, he had never had an attraction to any man in the past and preferred plump boobs over hardened pecs any given day but there was something special about Sherlock. When Sherlock had jumped from the building and gone away for two years John had been crushed and confused over his feelings; he had realised that his feelings for Sherlock had gone past that of best friends, work colleagues or flatmates into something more, something burning and yearning. He missed Sherlock’s genuine smile and the way he stalked away from crime scenes with blazing eyes, quick paced deductions and gesturing hands; John realised soon after Sherlock’s “death” that he was completely enamoured with his best friend.

Then Mary had come along and John shook away some of the thoughts of Sherlock and his brilliant mind. After all, he was gone and would never come back. Why dwell on what ifs? With time he hoped that his feelings for Sherlock would stop hurting him. He concentrated on making a relationship with Mary and was actually happy for a time; Mary wasn’t exciting but she was steady and secure, she made John feel alive and needed again.

Sherlock’s return had set everything back; John lied and cheated himself with the delusion that he could be happy with Mary. He would live in the suburbs and cycle to work, he would throw BBQ’s and dinner parties where boring couples would play charades and have awkward domestics in the garden. He would still see Sherlock but he would no longer feel the tension and adoration for his best friend. He lied and lied, desperately attempting to convince himself that what he was saying was true.

The realisation of his complete and utter devotion to Sherlock came, surprisingly, at his own wedding.

Sherlock stood in front of a room full of strangers and spoke; he said the most heart-warming and beautiful speech that John was sure that everybody in the room could hear his heartbeat. He realised he had made a huge mistake in marrying Mary; he wanted to run away with Sherlock, grab him by the hand and run until they were too exhausted to move anymore, but then Sholto was almost killed and Mary was pregnant. John’s wedding day was exhausting and made him feel weary to his bones.

Mary had straddled him when they returned to the hotel room; her face flushed and slightly sheened with exertion from dancing looming over him as she kissed and tempted him to consummate their marriage. John, too exhausted from the day’s events couldn’t sustain an erection which led to Mary becoming angry and walking away in a huff shortly followed by a buzzing sound echoing from the bathroom. John was too tired to care, he slipped into a deep and dark sleep where he realised that Sherlock had left the wedding early and had probably returned to Baker Street to plan the rest of his life without his blogger.

The months which followed the wedding were tough; Sherlock relapsed and was found in a crack den. When John returned him to Baker Street he was surprised to find Janine half-dressed and apparently romantically linked to Sherlock, a sight which caused John’s heart to actually ache in his chest. Thankfully it was a ruse and the pair split shortly after Sherlock momentarily died from the bullet wound on the operating table after being shot by Mary. John had tried to make it work with her at Sherlock’s insistence regardless of his true feelings; he hated her, couldn’t be in the same house as her never mind the same bed. Eventually the truth dawned on John that he could have lost Sherlock again and he found that he didn’t want to be parted for another minute. He packed his belongings and moved back home.

So the thought of him pretending to be Sherlock’s boyfriend wasn’t an issue to the 40-odd year old, straight ( _maybe)_ , ex-army doctor. Not an issue at all.

* * *

 

The pair spent an hour on the sofa watching mindless TV and chatting in the advert breaks before Sherlock arched his back and yawned, stretching his arms above his head as he did so.

“I think I’ll turn in,” the detective grumbled sleepily.

“It’s only eleven,” John said shocked; Sherlock normally didn’t go to sleep until three in the morning.

“I have some admin to do in my mind palace,” Sherlock insisted as he cautiously rose from the sofa and rearranged himself to allow some dignity as he turned from John. He was surprised to feel John grab his hand and spin him around, pressing his lips to Sherlock’s cheek tenderly.

“I-Intimacy?” Sherlock whispered, his voice broken.

“Practice,” John nodded. “Goodnight.”

“N-night,” Sherlock mumbled and rushed to his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

 

* * *

 

Stripping himself quickly Sherlock curled under his covers in the nude and reluctantly gripped his hard and leaking prick, knowing that if he didn’t solve the pesky erection issue now, he would never be able to sleep; he tugged on it roughly and gasped at the sensations flooding through his body as his thumb rubbed against the sensitive bundle of nerves under his tip. His other hand traced the outline of his cheek where John’s lips had been moments before; the detective was sure he could still feel John lingering on his skin, allowing his tongue to flick out and rub over the dry skin of his lips he groaned and arched his back as he tugged his cock harder and faster. His precum leaking copiously against his lower stomach as he desperately sought an orgasm from his frazzled body.

John, his John, was willing to pretend to be his boyfriend. He wanted to touch Sherlock, sleep with him ( _in a bed!)_ and hold his hand in front of the entire Holmes family just to save Sherlock embarrassment of having to admit that he was still single and alone. Sherlock’s heart swelled with love and tenderness as he pictured John’s rough, callused and stubby fingered hands entwined in his own, them walking around the Holmes Manor hand in hand, laughing and smiling like a real couple regardless of the pretend situation between them.

Sherlock could feel himself growing closer to his peak; moving his fingers from his lips to his nipples. He pinched one roughly and arched from the bed with a soft hiss, then he gave one final up twist on his cock and he was over the edge, unleashing a huge load of cum onto his lower stomach and chest as he groaned John’s name and bit his lips to stifle the noises. Stroking himself through the intense orgasm he panted hard and closed his eyes, feeling the first wave of guilt and self-loathing wash over his body. John had agreed to pretend to be his lover; he didn’t know or give Sherlock permission to masturbate over him.

The detective wiped himself off with his pants before pulling the duvet up to his chest and retreating into his mind palace to catalogue the new information on John.

* * *

 

John was returning the cups to the sink when he heard the first noise; it wasn’t much of anything, just a breathy moan which had John immediately hard. Holding onto the sink countertop he strained his ears to hear more, wondering whether he had the wrong end of the stick and Sherlock was doing something boring like stretching or exercising.

His thoughts were confirmed at the slight hiss which penetrated the bedroom door; John rubbed his palm against his own bulge and urged himself to stay silent. A final groan startled him as he realised that Sherlock had moaned his name; in his haste, John grabbed his cock and rushed quietly to his own bedroom, pulling out his prick and stroking it hard and desperate until he came with a shudder and gasp over his fist and onto the carpet below.

 _This definitely changes things,_ John thought to himself as he tidied himself up and retired to bed.


	3. Day two,

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still beta'd by my lovely Iriya who adds details I've forgotten!

Sherlock awoke to the vibrating sound of his phone under his pillow; rolling over he grabbed the device and smiled when he saw Lestrade’s name.

“Lestrade,” he mumbled into the speaker.

“Sherlock, what the buggering fuck have you done? Why is Mycroft talking about a birthday party I have been invited to as his boyfriend?. Nobody is supposed to know!” Greg sighed, “What’s going on?”

“My brother decided to try to force my hand in revealing my feelings towards John. He overreached himself and unfortunately has therefore ensured that you are forced to attend the party as his partner.”

Sherlock smiled as he covered his eyes with his forearm. “I hope you have a suit.”

“I don’t appreciate being caught between you and your brother’s pissing match,” Greg griped angrily, “Just sort it out.”

Sherlock smiled and disconnected the call before standing and walking naked to the bathroom where he showered and shaved. Dressing in his pyjamas he walked into the kitchen and clicked on the kettle as he heard John’s stuttered movements from above. Placing teabags into two cups he hummed absently as he waited for the tea to boil before making John’s tea as he preferred and leaving it on the top for when John arrived. He sat in his chair and sipped the hot cuppa as he followed John’s progress from his bed to the bathroom, then back to change into suitable attire and finally down the stairs to the kitchen.

“Tea’s ready for you,” Sherlock smiled softly.

“Thanks,” John grinned as he walked over to Sherlock and pressed a kiss to the detective’s lips, startling the younger man into silence and freezing him almost solid.

“Your mother won’t believe we’re a couple if you react like that every time,” John laughed, running his fingers through Sherlock’s curls and sitting in his own chair. “So, plans for today?”

The first sound which came from Sherlock’s lips was gibberish; the detective blushed further and took a deep breath before trying again. “We need to go shopping.”

“For food?” John asked casually, sipping the hot beverage and sighing happily as it worked its way down into his belly.

“You need to get a suit,” Sherlock explained.

“I have a suit,” John grumbled, aware that he wouldn’t be able to afford the extortionate prices Sherlock paid for his bespoke suits.

“John,” Sherlock seemed to steel himself, “I don’t want to sound condescending –”

“– but you will anyway,” John laughed. “Go on.”

“My family expect a certain… lifestyle. Money has never been an issue for us therefore we have no problems in wearing the finest clothing; I couldn’t and wouldn’t force you to attend my mothers celebration wearing a cheap off-the-peg suit,” Sherlock said, “I understand you have your principles and you are stubborn in paying your own way, but I can only hope that as it’s a problem which has arisen through my brother’s behaviour, you would allow me to purchase you a new tailored suit?”

“My suit costs £180,” John grumbled, “That’s expensive.”

“I understand John,” Sherlock nodded. “I know you don’t want this, but please?”

“Fine,” John waved away Sherlock’s puppy dog eyes, “but I’ll get dinner tonight, yeah?”

Sherlock nodded happily and returned to his cup as the pair sat in happy silence.

 

* * *

 

John allowed Sherlock to lead him onto the swanky New Bond Street and into a small and sparsely furnished boutique; Sherlock smiled as he opened the door and held out his hand for a man who was obviously a close friend. The pair chatted in French for a moment with only the briefest nod towards John who stood awkwardly listening to the two men talk a language he didn’t understand.

“Pierre, this is my friend Dr John Watson,” Sherlock smiled as he gestured to John, “John Watson, Pierre Bardet.”

Pierre was a small man; aged in his late fifties with a stylish moustache. He had a jovial smile and a thatch of silvery grey hair which seemed to glow in the sunlight.

The tailor smiled and extended his hand to John who took it happily; the three men made small talk for a moment before Sherlock seemingly became bored of the topic and swept his coat as he turned to grab for the fabric brochure.

“I need something special,” Sherlock began talking quick and excited, “Something perfect and understated but regal.”

John felt a little bit out of place in this shop that obviously catered to very wealthy customers but he smiled as he watched Sherlock’s hands fly rapidly through the fabric samples, stopping on a dark blue one.

“This one!” the detective shouted and rushed back to John to drape the material over his shoulder. “Perfectly brings out the colour in his eyes.”

“Parfait, mon ami,” the tailor said with a smile and reached for his tape measure, “Shall we, Doctor?”

John looked at Sherlock nervously who smiled and nodded towards the small area where the fitting would be conducted. John followed Pierre into the room and cautiously peeled off his coat to place on the provided hanger. 

“First fitting, sir?” Pierre asked kindly as he watched John nervously fiddling with his fingernails.

“That obvious?” John laughed.

“A little.” Pierre gave a soft smile and pulled out his tape measure. “It’s very simple. I will talk you through it.”

Some time later John and Pierre returned to the main body of the shop complete with John’s measurements and an insight into which cut of suit John would prefer. The doctor deferred to Sherlock who made the quick arrangements and added shirts, waistcoats, ties and shoes for John into the mix as well as a new black suit for himself. Pulling out his card he handed it to his tailor with a smile. Pierre added up the total and smiled, “That’ll be £3,500 please, mon ami.”

“What? I couldn’t possibly…” John trailed off, staring between Sherlock and Pierre. “Sherlock you can’t.”

“I offered,” Sherlock shrugged and typed in his pin number before taking the receipt and arranging to pick up the suits at the end of the week. Pierre saw them off with a courteous smile ( _although John expected something more, circus tricks perhaps or juggling considering Sherlock had just paid a small fortune for clothing)._

The two men didn’t talk on the way back to Baker Street; Sherlock was absently scanning through his phone whilst John stared out of the window and considered how he could ever pay Sherlock back for his suit.

“You don’t,” came the reply from beside him.

“What?” John asked,

“Have you pay me back. It’s a gift,” Sherlock insisted without looking up, “Angelo’s for dinner?”

* * *

 

Their meals were delicious as usual and both men felt relaxed and content with one another as they chatted casually throughout dinner; John didn’t flinch as Angelo brought over the candle and lit it to create a romantic atmosphere. The couple shared a bottle of wine, enjoying how the alcohol created a hazy buzz around them as they reminisced over cases and people they had helped.

Sherlock allowed John to pay the tab before the pair decided to head back to Baker Street; collecting their coats they walked slowly and contently to the flat. John considered holding Sherlock’s hand but wasn’t sure how far the detective was willing to take their charade in public, deciding to wait until they had returned home. John felt a flutter of excitement in his lower stomach at the next lesson he wanted to teach Sherlock.

His chance came not long after they arrived into the house and changed into their pyjamas; John had retired to the sofa and held out his arm for Sherlock to curl into in the same position as the night previously but decided to further experiment. He used his other hand to hold Sherlock’s chin, tilting the younger man’s head up until they were maintaining eye contact. John watched as Sherlock looked from John’s eyes to his lips and back up again, a hint of pink tongue lapping at his lower lip as he anxiously awaited John’s instruction.

“May I?” John whispered.

Sherlock nodded once; staring wide-eyed at John who softly pressed a tender and chaste kiss onto Sherlock’s plush bow lips. Sherlock stilled momentarily and held his breath as John left his lips against the detective’s for a long second before pulling away. The pair panted silently before drawing one another into a second, more desperate kiss; Sherlock wasn’t sure what to do, his teeth clacked painfully against John’s and his tongue immediately dipped into John’s mouth, running along the roof of John’s palate until the doctor pulled away and stilled the other man.

“Okay, we need to slow down,” John grumbled, wiping the saliva from his chin which had dripped from Sherlock’s lips, “follow my movements.”

Sherlock, who reined in his embarrassment over dripping on John, nodded and felt John replace his lips over his own; the two stayed still for a moment before John opened his lips minutely and licked Sherlock’s bottom lip with his tongue. With his hand, he cupped Sherlock’s cheek and allowed his tongue to coax Sherlock’s into a slow and passionate dance which was more controlled and serene than their previous attempt. Groaning into the kiss John created a slight suction onto Sherlock’s upper lip as his tongue slipped into Sherlock’s mouth and caressed the warm heat, tasting tea and Sherlock’s toothpaste.

“John,” Sherlock whispered reverently, his hands bunching into John’s T-shirt as he gripped his friend tightly, “God.”

“Shhh,” John soothed with a smile, “Is this okay?”

“Please, can we do it some more?” Sherlock almost begged, his mind almost overwhelmed with previously unknown emotional attachments.

John nodded and kissed Sherlock again; neither man cared that they were both erect and straining their pyjama bottoms, or later, that their jaws began to ache after almost an hour of non-stop snogging. Both were content to spend the time exploring one another’s mouths and the breathy sighs which were swallowed.

* * *

 

The two men retired to their bedrooms after numerous hours of heated kisses; each took themselves into hand and worked themselves through intense orgasms whilst thinking of the other followed by an overwhelming wave of British guilt. John fell into a deep and relaxed sleep while Sherlock stayed awake; his fingers steepled under his chin as he thought about the new feelings he now felt.

When Sherlock had faked his death and fled the capital he had immediately met his family at a small cottage they owned in Sussex to say goodbye; Mycroft had informed their parents of the media furore which was about to begin but hadn’t gone into detail allowing Sherlock the choice if he decided to enlighten them. The detective didn’t want to and sat silently for most of the meeting whilst Mycroft organised various fake documents and meetings with undercover operatives already working as part of Moriarty’s web.

Sherlock hadn’t expected the John-less void and ache to be so painful; when he had taken his place on the pavement and allowed himself to be covered with blood he watched horrified as John pushed his way through the crowd and grabbed for his hand all the while shouting, “Let me through, I’m his friend.”

Sherlock had wanted to stand up; to grab John and hold him tightly and promise that regardless of what Moriarty had planned, they would fight it together but he knew better. Moriarty’s snipers wouldn’t stop unless they believed him dead, so he allowed himself to be carted off on a stretcher and sent into exile whilst John was sedated in the back of an ambulance. Sitting on the hard, antique chairs of his mother’s dining set he remembered John’s angry rant of, “You machine” and shuddered. If John knew how much Sherlock felt, how much he _wanted_ and _needed_ John, he would be horrified.

The only thing which got Sherlock through the torturous months of isolation and torture was the thought of John Watson; knowing that John Watson was safe and secure, albeit grieving and angry but alive. Sherlock had felt strong and believed that he could finish his job and return to John. They would go back to the way they had been before the fall and continue their close friendship.

When he returned, though, he hadn’t expected John’s reaction to be so violent. Pain had bloomed through the unhealed wounds on his back as John threw them both to the floor angrily and punched him repeatedly. The second surprise was Mary, although Sherlock deduced her quickly as they met. He stopped when he saw one particular deduction he didn’t want to:

_Loves and is loved by John Watson._

Sherlock intended from then on to do whatever it took to make John happy; he buried his own feelings deep and attempted to delete them. He locked them away in the darkest corner of his mind palace but found that whenever he entered the wing dedicated to John, the feelings would charge at him and he would feel the unfamiliar flutter in his lower stomach. Watching John marry Mary was the hardest thing Sherlock had endured; at that moment he would have happily been taken back to the torturer and whipped if he could forget the look of love which had passed between the newlyweds. He noticed Mary’s pregnancy ( _which later was deemed a fake)_ and the way that John had hugged him tightly after his speech but after his performance of his composition he had left and returned to Baker Street. He didn’t argue when he had left the venue and turned onto the road to be met with one of Mycroft’s cars who took him home in silence.

He relapsed soon after; attempting to quieten his feelings and loneliness and then Mary had killed him momentarily, making him realise how much he needed John in his life.

Sherlock sat up in bed and kicked off the sheets as the final pieces of his puzzle were revealed. He didn’t want to _pretend_ to be in a relationship with John, he didn’t want to go back to the way they were after the kissing and intimacy. He wanted it all to be real.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here be angst!
> 
> Beta'd by  
> [ Iriya]()

“Morning, Locke,” John smiled as he walked down the stairs and clicked on the kettle before rummaging through the cupboards for cereal. “You okay?”

“Hmm,” Sherlock mumbled in reply, his mind racing at the new shortening of his name.

“I thought maybe we could go out? Could go to the park or wander around the shops?” John continued chatting aimlessly as he poured cereal and milk into a bowl and placed it on the kitchen counter, kissing the top of Sherlock’s head and letting his hands linger on his friends shoulder.

Sherlock flinched at the contact and jerked away slightly which startled John into silence; the doctor took a seat opposite Sherlock and stared at him whilst Sherlock moved his eyes back to the microscope. John wasn’t sure whether to bring up the reaction or not so began eating his breakfast quietly, opening the newspaper and reading.

“There’s been a coup in Africa,” John mumbled watching Sherlock shake his head and reply, “Tedious.”

“Famous painting theft?” he tried again.

“Boring,” Sherlock groaned.

John quieted and continued eating his cornflakes with a heavy feeling in his belly.

 

* * *

 

John eventually coerced Sherlock into dressing and accompanying him outside of Baker Street; Sherlock complained bitterly until he realised that John wasn’t going to give up and moved to get ready. An hour later the pair walked around Regent’s Park casually. John listened as Sherlock named the various flowers and plants and excitedly gestured at the bees which had begun to lazily sit on the petals. John smiled as he watched the detective become relaxed as he explained the amazing nature of bees. He had never expected him to be interested in them.

They continued around the path until they reached the duck pond where John stood beside his best friend; casually looking around he noticed they were alone and slipped his smaller hand into Sherlock’s larger one, watching as the detective froze and looked down at their entwining digits.

John was shocked when Sherlock pulled away and took a step back.

“No.”

“What is it, Locke?” John asked carefully.

“No. Don’t call me that, don’t do this,” Sherlock whispered, emotion threatening to rush from him uncontrollably as he stared down at John.

“Okay… I’m sorry,” John soothed, “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Sherlock attempted to speak only to close his mouth and shake his head no. Suddenly John could see Sherlock’s face fall and he bit his lip before averting his gaze. John tried to understand what had Sherlock so upset and he waited for him to say something but was startled when the man turned around briskly and stalked away. His coat trailed behind him, flapping in the breeze as John called after him. He didn’t turn around once.

 

* * *

 

John sat on a park bench and put his head in his hands; he didn’t understand what had happened between them since their kissing the night before. Had he been too quick and straightforward?

A soft clearing of the throat had him looking up at Mycroft who stood towering over him with his usual three-piece suit and umbrella. John groaned and put his head back in his hands,

“What do you want, Mycroft?” he growled through clenched teeth.

“We need to talk,” Mycroft insisted softly, sitting beside John on the public bench and opening his briefcase.

“About what? The fact that you’ve fucked up my friendship because you refused to tell your mother the truth?” John spat.

“If you remember Dr Watson, it wasn’t me who suggested you should take on this charade,” Mycroft sneered.

“Oh no, you left us with a lot of choices,” John laughed weakly. “Tell the truth and let Sherlock be humiliated or try this relationship lie and ruin everything. Brilliant.”

Mycroft stilled for a second and exhaled.

“I suppose it is rather my fault. I apologise for it.”

John looked up shocked and blinked.

“Bloody hell, are you seriously apologising right now?”

“Hmm, don’t get used to it,” Mycroft grumbled as he picked out a bundle of letters each addressed to Mycroft.

“I wanted you to read these but you must promise not to divulge to Sherlock that you have seen them.”

“More secrets, because that’s always worked for the best,” John sneered as he took the offered letters and looked down at the spiky handwriting he recognised as Sherlock’s.

“Go to a café, John,” Mycroft instructed, “and hand them to Mrs Hudson when you’re done. I don’t want Sherlock to know I kept them.”

“What are they?” John asked confused.

“The inner workings of Sherlock Holmes’ heart,” Mycroft smiled sadly before nodding and standing up, walking away without another word.

 

* * *

 

John ordered a coffee and sat on the plush leather sofa in a small independent tea shop; the place was almost empty with only a few people typing away on laptops ( _who seemed to look around every few minutes to see if anyone was looking at them, desperately seeking someone to show off to when they claimed to be an author)_ and a gentle tinkling of jazz music over the radio. John sipped his drink and opened the bundle of letters taking the first one from the pile and opening it carefully; it was dated a week after Sherlock’s fake death.

_**Friday 11 th May,** _

_**Arrived in Paris, Accommodation sufficient for purpose, Met with contact who informed me that we would be moving on to secondary meeting point on schedule. Please ensure courier will be available in designated meeting point to arrange communication,** _

_**Have you spoken to JW? How is he? Please provide info accordingly.** _

_**Regards** _

 

John read the letter thoroughly and felt his pulse race; he hadn’t been aware that Sherlock was in contact with his family during his exile although it made sense to do it through post and secure courier service rather than technology which could have been detected or followed. The lack of signature was also clever as any information found in the letter could not be deduced or make sense to anybody outside the intended recipient.

He opened the next one dated a few weeks after the first.

 

_**Wednesday 6 th June,** _

_**Met with informant in Milan following up on leads.** _

_**Your last correspondence did not give information on JW, please provide.** _

_**Regards** _

 

John pulled open the next five letters, all with similar information regarding location and information on meeting points and each mentioned him by initial. It was obvious that Mycroft had been spying and sending Sherlock relevant information on John’s whereabouts made clear by Sherlock asking.

 

_**JW has returned to therapist? Please heighten security and ensure constant vigil by address.** _

 

And

 

_**Suggest GL visit JW for drinks and conversation. Anniversary of meeting day close and JW is sentimental.** _

 

John sighed and shook his head as he remembered the day perfectly in his mind; he had been brooding on the sofa sadly, his tremor shaking his hand and the pain in his leg driving him out of his mind when Greg had popped by to invite him out for a drink. John had refused all prior invitations but seeing his friend in person had changed his mind and the pair had gone out for a pint which quickly led to them becoming intoxicated. Greg had slept over at Baker Street on the sofa ( _nobody was allowed into Sherlock’s bedroom)_ and awoke to 20 missed calls from an unknown number. John reasoned that it was probably Mycroft and that the pair was obviously in a committed relationship even from that time on.

John looked at the dates on the letters and followed the progression of Sherlock around the globe until his letters had stopped in Russia.

_**Monday 3 rd February,** _

_**Will be meeting contact on the day of the full moon; if no reply by 3 rd quarter moon then action has failed. Please ensure all personal property is sent to JW and include contents of safety deposit box. ** _

_**If action fails, please ensure JW is safe and secure #1 priority.** _

John gasped and put down his cup as the coffee threatened to spill over the sides; the doctor added up the dates and felt sick to his stomach as he realised that the day which Sherlock had known may have been his last was Valentine’s Day, the night he and Mary had decided to move in together. His stomach felt heavy as he realised that whilst he was out, enjoying a romantic night with the new woman in his life, Sherlock was saying his goodbyes to his brother and ensuring that John was protected and safe as best he could. Biting back tears John guessed that Sherlock hadn’t contacted Mycroft after the date which had resulted in Mycroft travelling to Siberia to rescue his brother.

Folding the letters up, he shrugged on his coat and thanked the assistant behind the counter before taking off in a run back to Baker Street, dropping the letters off at Mrs Hudson’s on the way up.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst, realisation, soppy fluff and love.
> 
> Beta'd by  
> [ Iriya]()

Sherlock heard John rushing through the door and sat up from his seat on the sofa where he had been thinking; he had a perfectly planned speech prepared and he wanted to ensure that John heard it before their friendship was ruined forever. He was momentarily confused as he heard John enter Mrs Hudson’s flat but relaxed when he heard John’s footsteps on the stairs.

John entered the flat and stared at Sherlock; their eyes met in a lingering gaze before Sherlock stood and moved to stand in front of John.

“John, I...” he started only to be cut off by John putting a hand in the air.

“I’m not good at this,” John started, “You know I’m not.”

“I don’t want to pretend,” Sherlock whispered sadly, sitting back down on the sofa and putting his head in his hands. “I thought I did but I can’t.”

“Oh,” John mumbled, “Right. I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t say that,” Sherlock whispered, “I don’t want to pretend, I don’t want to be your pretend boyfriend for a week and then return to being just friends.”

John narrowed his eyes but stayed silent allowing Sherlock to speak.

“You know, I’m not good with sentiment, so I thought that if I tried to hide my feelings, push them away and think about things logically I could survive,” Sherlock mumbled, “but then we kissed and I feel like I will never be able to go back.”

“Sherlock, I…” John started, but Sherlock had continued his confession once more.

“I know you’re straight, John, you’re doing this out of kindness and loyalty to me and I appreciate it, but I would rather be humiliated in front of my family than endure these _feelings you are just pretending to_ _feel_ _,”_ Sherlock spat the last word as though it was bad tasting. “I appreciate everything you’ve done.”

“Will you let me speak?” John interrupted him, causing Sherlock to jump slightly and look up with teary eyes. “Oh, fuck it.”

John moved and kissed Sherlock chastely; there was no heat or lust involved, it was simply a loving and tender brush of lips which took both men’s breath away. Sherlock shivered and grabbed John’s hip to hold himself steady as the doctor pulled away panting.

“I don’t know what this is,” John admitted cautiously, “I don’t know whether I’m gay or bi or whether I’m able to have a sexual relationship with a man… but I don’t want to pretend either, Sherlock. I want to be with you and I would have left a long time ago if I didn’t.”

Sherlock scanned John’s face for deception and found none. Startled slightly, he moved backwards onto the sofa and sighed, “So… we’re not pretending?”

“Not anymore,” John smiled. “You’re stuck with me for real.”

John had not expected Sherlock’s next sudden move and so wasn’t quite ready for over six foot of gangly detective flying towards him to rugby tackle him onto the carpet. John huffed a pant as his back hit the floor and winded him slightly as Sherlock pressed himself against John’s chest.

““You’re brilliant, John.”

John ran his hand up and down Sherlock’s spine and hushed him softly. The two remained on the floor until their joints ached and the flat became icy cold.

“We should move,” John said as he felt his shoulder twinge in pain.

“Yes,” Sherlock mumbled as he timidly nuzzled his nose against John’s neck softly.

Twenty minutes later the two men were still on the floor.

“We really need to move,” John laughed.

“Think warm thoughts,” Sherlock replied, “I’m comfortable.”

“Git,” John laughed, pulling himself to sit up and stretch, ignoring the small whine escaping Sherlock as his cushion was taken away leaving him lying with his cheek on the cold carpet. “Let’s go to bed.”

Sherlock blinked and stilled nervously, causing John to turn and look at him sweetly.

“To sleep Sherlock, nothing more.”

The detective nodded and moved to stand; walking to the bathroom he got ready for bed and climbed into his bed before waiting primly with his hands clasped on top of the duvet.

“Guess we’re sleeping here?” John chuckled as he walked into Sherlock’s room in his pyjama, looking down at the blushing face of his best friend who looked so nervous and anxious

“Hey, hey, hey, calm down. Nothing is going to happen; we’re just going to go to sleep,” John reassured him.

Sherlock relaxed slightly and watched as John entered the bedroom and pulled back the duvet. Climbing in beside him the pair maintained a gap between their bodies as they adjusted to the newness of the situation. John stared up at the ceiling before clicking off the light sheathing them both in inky darkness with only the outside lights reflecting through Sherlock’s curtains.

Neither man slept much that night; both focussed on their thoughts and emotions from the day before as their brains whirred all night leaving them tired and irritable.

 

* * *

 

As no cases had arisen the next day, the two men settled into a lazy day on the sofa with tea and toast. Mrs Hudson popped up occasionally with baked treats and scandalous gossip from the magazines but felt the frostiness in the atmosphere and soon returned to her own flat, hoping that whatever was happening between her tenants would soon be fixed.

Sherlock, who usually didn’t care when he didn’t talk for days because he felt annoyed or lost in thought, didn’t want to leave the current situation as it was. He saw the same irritation he felt on John’s face and came to the decision that something had to be done about it. Just because he had admitted that he didn’t want to have a pretend relationship anymore and had opened up to John, didn’t mean he would be at the mercy of his confusing emotions. He could sort this out and luckily he wasn’t on his own.

He looked over at John cautiously and cleared his throat, forcing John to look up at him quizzically.

“I rather feel we could indulge in some of the intimate gestures we had begun yesterday,” the detective blushed.

Surprised, John looked up from the paper he was reading, irritation suddenly forgotten.

“Is this you asking for a cuddle?” he cheeked with a smile, enjoying how quickly Sherlock became flustered.

Sherlock lowered his head and closed his eyes tightly; shame rushing through his body at being forced to ask for something as demeaning as being cuddled like a child. John noticed immediately and shushed him by pulling himself closer to the detective, wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s thin frame.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed to ask for anything. If it’s something I can give you, you know I will,” John said with a smile as he placed a kiss on Sherlock’s forehead. Sherlock felt the tension leave his body as he was held by the man he loved more than anything in the world. His brain stopped overthinking and quieted to a low hum as John stroked his curls softly.

“Tell me, what is your mum like?” John asked calmly as he pulled his legs up to kneel but continued to hold Sherlock tightly.

Sherlock smiled. “She’s lovely. I adore my mother.”

John had never heard Sherlock talk so openly about his feelings before, so he kept quiet as Sherlock continued to speak.

“I wasn’t an easy child,” he begun, “I was easily bored. Before Mycroft left for university we had been close and he kept me out of trouble but once he left, I started to cause issues in the home. I’d do dangerous experiments in the house and generally be a nightmare.” Sherlock sighed. “But Mummy was always so supportive of me. When my father died she allowed me to take over his shed to do experiments.”

John smiled and pressed a kiss to the crown of Sherlock’s curls.

“I suppose I didn’t realise how cared for I really was,” Sherlock mumbled, “When I left for University myself, I got into a situation which I should have avoided.”

“The drugs?” John asked carefully.

Sherlock nodded sadly but continued.

“I was seen as a freak, a social pariah due to my deductions and lack of social awareness which resulted in me becoming isolated. A boy used that to his advantage and together we became masters of cooking and purifying our own drugs; it went well until I overused. I was used to cocaine but when I tried heroin I overdosed. The guy I thought was my friend dragged me into a taxi and put a ten pound note in my top pocket and asked the cabbie to drop me off at A&E,” Sherlock grimaced. “The driver literally pulled my out by my legs and left me at the entrance to the hospital, took the money and left without a word.”

“Jesus, Sherlock,” John gasped, “What happened then?”

“Thankfully a passing nurse spotted me and called for help. They took me in and gave me the drugs to stop me from dying,” Sherlock was biting his thumb now, clearly remembering the moment.

“They contacted your mother?” John asked,

“Worse. They called Mycroft,” Sherlock grimaced. “You know how he is now? Imagine him when I was 19 and vulnerable. Since then he has been constantly keeping an eye out for me.”

“Christ. So that’s the reason,” John mumbled.

“He hid the truth from Mummy, took me away to Scotland and put me into rehab where I stayed for months until I was clean. He arranged for me to take up at Baker Street being watched over by Mrs Hudson and spoke to Lestrade about offering me work as a consultant,” he said with a smile, “I think it was more of an excuse to actually talk to Lestrade. He’d been pining after him for months.”

John grinned and chuckled.

“How did the pair get together? Or do I not want to know?”

“After I died…” Sherlock trailed off before clearing his throat and starting again. “After I left, Mycroft was the only person I had to rely on other than Molly and the homeless network but Mycroft had nobody. He puts on a façade of calm and orderly but in reality his job is unbelievably stressful.”

“You’re Mycroft’s stress relief?” John chuckled. “It doesn’t seem it.”

“When he came here we would play childish games or deductions. We could just be brothers rather than Mycroft _the British Government_ and Sherlock _the consulting detective_. We could joke and mock one another mercilessly but in the knowledge that it was just silliness; regardless of the way our relationship seems to others he’s actually not that bad. I have to thank him that I recovered from drugs.”

John nodded and moved himself as his legs were becoming tired; lying onto his side he pulled Sherlock down until they were face to face and touching from chest to toes.

“Anyway, when I left I suggested that he offer to take Lestrade out for dinner as a way of thanking him for everything he had done in the years he had known me. Lestrade didn’t know I was alive either and Mycroft was adamant that he couldn’t know… but I digress. I know Lestrade was bisexual and had indulged in same-sex relationships in the past. I also deduced that that he had an attraction to my brother which rivalled Mycroft’s own crush. The pair went out for a date and the rest is history,” Sherlock said, smiling softly as he stroked his long fingers along John’s jawline.

“I can’t believe nobody knows,” John said, shaking his head.

“You weren’t even supposed to know. Mycroft doesn’t like admitting he has _feelings_ _,”_ Sherlock grimaced. “But I refuse to lie to you anymore, and you’re much better at making Mycroft blush with barbed comments about sex than I am.”

“I wish I could take a bow,” John laughed as he kissed Sherlock softly.

 

* * *

 

The two men decided to go into London in order to buy a present for Sherlock’s mum as well as a selection of items which were needed for their week-long trip to the Holmes manor. Both men dressed casually and headed out into the breezy London air before heading to Oxford Street. John walked beside Sherlock who suddenly swept from his side to walk towards a young woman sitting on the pavement shivering. The detective crouched down and spoke softly to the girl before handing her some money with a bright smile and walking back to where John stood watching the encounter.

“Alright?” John asked.

“Yes,” Sherlock nodded. “She was just checking in. I haven’t seen her for a while.”

John wasn’t sure how Sherlock maintained contact with his homeless network but let the thoughts dissolve as Sherlock began striding purposefully through the throngs of people who stood looking into the shop windows. John half jogged to catch up before putting a hand on Sherlock’s lower arm.

“Slow down, we don’t have to rush.”

Sherlock slowed his pace and walked alongside John; his face turning bright red when he felt the doctor entwine their fingers. He felt the fizz of excitement in his stomach as he walked hand in hand with his best friend slash boyfriend, noticing that nobody around them seemed to have realised the monumental change to the universe.

* * *

 

John collapsed into the seat of a private booth in a local pub; his legs ached and his shoulders were tense from carrying bags of shopping which they had bought for their trip. Sherlock had footed most of the bill with a flourish of movement and a rolling of the eyes whenever John attempted to pay. John had insisted that Sherlock allow him to pay for lunch which was how they had ended up in a small and sparsely populated pub which John knew served delicious meals.

Sherlock sat opposite John studying the menu before deciding on his food and folding his arms on the table. John smiled and put his hand over the detective’s forearm and grabbed for his hand, entwining their fingers and watching as Sherlock smiled softly,

“Is this okay?” John asked, “I should have probably asked earlier but I wanted to do it.”

“It’s fine,” Sherlock nodded. “Good, very good.”

“I’ll order.” John smiled as he took Sherlock’s requests and walked to the bar leaving Sherlock alone with his thoughts once more. The detective was definitely happy at the turn of events, being with John was simpler than he had ever imagined ( _so far)_ but Sherlock knew that it would become more difficult as soon as sex was introduced into the mix. He was sure, though, that John wouldn’t pressure him into anything.

John returned to the seats with a glass of wine for Sherlock and a pint for himself; setting them down on the table John sat down and smiling towards his partner.

“Do you think your mum will like her gift?” John asked thoughtfully, lifting the expensive jewellers bag up and taking out the box in which the designer necklace was placed.

“I imagine so.” Sherlock shrugged. “She enjoys the work of that designer but as she doesn’t get into London very often she doesn’t get to see his new pieces.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you,” John said with a grin, moving to hold Sherlock’s hand again, “What is Mycroft getting her?”

“I think he’s paying for them a trip on a cruise liner,” Sherlock said, “I zoned out whenever he began to talk.”

“Wow…” John mumbled, “That’s expensive.”

“That’s my brother for you,” Sherlock quipped before taking a sip of his wine and leaning back against the comfortable chair.

The food arrived and the pair ate in relative silence as they enjoyed the meal. It was homely and warm, almost as good as Angelo’s and Sherlock ate most of his food before dipping his fingers into John’s curry and tasting it. John allowed it but playfully stabbed Sherlock’s finger with his fork when the detective tried to steal his last chip.

John suddenly realised how perfect their relationship felt; the friendship base hadn’t changed allowing them to remain best friends but now they had the added intimacy of being lovers or partners, whichever suited them better. He was suddenly feeling more in control of his emotions and thoughts as he realised that he probably wanted to spend the rest of his life with Sherlock, growing old together.

“I want that too,” Sherlock’s soft voice rumbled through his thoughts, startling John slightly.

“What?” he asked cautiously,

“Growing old together, being together forever,” Sherlock mumbled and smiled, “That’s what I want.”

“How did you… never mind,” John said with a wide smile, “It’s true.”

Sherlock gave him his genuine smile and lowered his eyes seductively, “Shall we return home?”

“Yes,” John nodded, getting the feeling that something special was in the air.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I get a mention in this chapter :P
> 
> Beta'd by  
> [ Iriya]()

The two men carried the bags upstairs and dumped them unceremoniously onto the floor in the living room before staring intently at one another; the air between them had changed in the pub and both could sense the lingering sexual tension which fizzed in the space around them. Without hesitation, Sherlock strode up to John and let his hand cup the back of John’s head as they stared at one another silently. Sherlock looked for anything which suggested John was having second thoughts but found none; he slowly moved his lips towards John’s and brushed them together. It was a brief and almost chaste touch of skin that suddenly deepened into something much more passionate and desperate, teeth clacked, lips were bitten and tongues messily met one another as both men gave in to their urges. John let his hands linger on Sherlock’s hips as the detective cupped both of his cheeks, pushing him backwards against the living room wall. He pressed their bodies together from chest to hip, desperately grinding their stiff erections against the other which caused them to gasp and groan. Sherlock whimpered low in his throat as he felt his cock dripping into his pants, soaking them with his precum as John slid his hand around to cup Sherlock’s deliciously plump arse.

“Not interrupting anything, am I?” a voice came from the doorway.

“Fuck off, Mycroft!” both men shouted at once as Sherlock kicked closed the door in Mycroft’s face.

“Very mature, brother mine,” came Mycroft’s muffled voice through the wood which again interrupted the couple’s kissing.

Sherlock rested his head against John’s forehead and groaned deep and low as they panted and got their breath back.

“What do you want?” John shouted, obviously irate as his cock pushed against his jeans begging for attention.

“We need to discuss the party,” Mycroft continued, his voice never wavering from his usual bored tone.

“Can it wait?” Sherlock asked looking down at John’s lust blown eyes, “It was just getting good.”

John chuckled causing Sherlock to giggle until both men were roaring with laughter and holding one another close to stop them falling to the floor at the absurdity of the situation.

The two men rearranged their pricks and smoothed themselves down before opening the door and looking at Mycroft who was examining his fingernails.

“You have the shittest timing,” John grumbled as he walked towards the kitchen to put the kettle on, “Could have given us 20 minutes.”

“Twenty minutes?” Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “I’d have been done in five.”

Both men shared a look and giggled again before realising Mycroft was sitting in Sherlock’s chair looking utterly bored. John returned to making tea while Sherlock took John’s seat.

“So what is it?” he asked.

“You need to speak to Mummy,” Mycroft said, “Tell her that Gregory won’t be attending due to an important work schedule.”

“Oh? And why would I do that?” Sherlock asked.

“You know why,” Mycroft hissed, “Our relationship is private; I don’t want everybody knowing my business.”

“But it’s okay for you to meddle in ours?” Sherlock asked, raising an eyebrow. “No. You deserve this punishment and Mummy will be dreadfully upset if Lestrade doesn’t turn up.”

“Sherlock,” Mycroft almost pleaded, “I cannot inflict our family on Gregory.”

“Oh, well, I’m glad you felt the same about me,” John piped in from the kitchen, glaring at the politician before walking back with three mugs of tea on a tray. He sat on the arm of his chair and wrapped his arm around Sherlock’s shoulder.

“I nudged you in the right direction,” Mycroft insisted.

“No. You nearly ruined everything,” John replied,

Mycroft glared at both men before sighing sadly and lowering his head in defeat.

“There’s no way out of it, is there?”

“No, there’s not,” Sherlock smiled, ~~a~~ popping the “t” as he finished.

“Have you organised a gift?” Mycroft asked.

“Obviously,” Sherlock replied, taking the small box with the necklace from the bag.

Mycroft examined the jewellery and nodded his head.

“It’s nice.”

“If there’s nothing else?” Sherlock asked politely, “I was rather hoping you would leave.”

“Oh,” Mycroft grimaced, “You’re still intent on doing _that_ _.”_

John and Sherlock shared a look before the doctor smiled; knowing that Sherlock had given him free range to embarrass his brother whenever he felt like it, he smirked as he whispered loud enough for Mycroft to hear.

“I don’t mind an audience love.”

Sherlock nodded and bit his lower lip seductively as he looked up, acting as though it was totally natural to kiss John passionately in the presence of his brother. John returned the kiss happily before pulling away.

“Just don’t make a mess on the chair, Mycroft.”

The politician flushed bright red and almost knocked over the tea tray in his haste to escape the living room; he grabbed his umbrella and glared at Sherlock before adding, “I will arrange transport for Friday.”

Sherlock waved a hand dismissively before pulling John down to sit on his lap as they heard Mycroft close the flat door and walk down the stairs before the pair burst into infectious giggles. They laughed until they were breathless and tear-stained, remembering the look of pure horror on Mycroft’s face as he fled.

“You’re a genius,” Sherlock whispered into John’s ear as he nuzzled the smaller man’s neck.

 

* * *

 

The interruption had cleared the minds of both men who no longer felt that they were drowning in dizzying lust; sitting together closely they sipped at their tea.

“Sherlock?” John spoke softly.

“Hm?” the detective replied, pulling himself from his thoughts.

“I don’t want to ruin this… whatever it is we have,” John started, “So, if it’s alright with you, can we take our time with sexual intimacy?”

Sherlock frowned causing the adorable wrinkles on his forehead to line the skin.

“Why?”

“I think, sex confuses things,” John explained, “and… in the nicest way possible, Sherlock, I don’t feel comfortable in doing anything until I know we both have been tested for any STDs.”

“I’m clean,” Sherlock assured him, “I got tested after I relapsed and haven’t used since. I also haven’t had sex.”

“I’m clean too,” John said with a nod.

“Would it be okay then that we have sex?” Sherlock asked with an impish smile.

“Definitely but not yet,” John murmured, “I just… I don’t know how far I feel comfortable with. I’ve never been with a man.”

“It’s not that much different than a woman I assume,” Sherlock said with a shrug.

“Well… it’s quite different, Sherlock,” John laughed, watching as Sherlock frowned again.

“Oh, you’re worried I would want to anally penetrate you,” Sherlock reasoned with a nod.

John had used the gap in his speech to take a drink; something which he massively regretted as he spluttered and choked on the warm liquid.

“Christ, Sherlock!”

“Are you worried that your rectum wouldn’t be able to accommodate my penis? Because I’ve seen videos on the internet of men taking fists up their anuses,” Sherlock continued in a conversational tone of voice.

“Fucking hell, kill me now,” John whispered, his head resting in his hands.

“Is that what you’re worried about?” Sherlock asked sincerely.

“It wasn’t…” John grumbled.

“Don’t worry. I wouldn’t hurt you,” Sherlock whispered as he ran a hand up and down John’s spine.

John sighed exasperated and looked at him.

“It’s not the actual act that scares me,” John admitted cautiously.

“Is this sentiment then?” Sherlock asked confused.

“Possibly. I don’t really know what it is,” John replied.

“Are you worried that people will look at you different now you’re in a same-sex relationship? Does it concern you that when we walk around the yard or in the street people will be picturing us during intercourse and wondering who tops?” Sherlock continued without realising that John was tensing up, “And that when the media finds out eventually, weird fangirls will spend their Friday afternoons writing erotic fanfiction in which we have long convoluted conversations followed by hot, sweaty and rampant sex?”

John swallowed audibly, wondering how Sherlock could possibly have any clue about fanfiction. Had he underestimated him that much? He nodded which caused Sherlock to still.

“Oh. A bit not good?” he asked.

“A bit,” John nodded, “I just want to take it slowly. There’s no rush at all.”

“Can I still kiss you?” Sherlock asked, glad when John nodded. “And hold your hand in the street and cuddle you here?”

“Of course,” John said with a gentle smile.

“And…” Sherlock continued with a faint blush, “Will you call me Locke?”

John kissed Sherlock softly and stroked a hand through his hair.

“Of course I will, love.”

“Then all is good, John.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ooooh smutty and sexy and slightly angsty and funny!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Also, thank you so much for all the lovely comments. I love you all.
> 
> Beta'd by  
> [ Iriya]()

The men still had three days to go until they were due to set off to the Holmes Manor when a case came through Lestrade; Sherlock had groaned as he was awoken in John’s bed by the pesky buzzing of his mobile but soon perked up when he heard of the crimes.

“John!” he hissed excitedly, “We have a case, John!”

“Hmm?” John grumbled from his side of the bed and turned over to cover his head with the pillow, “I’m not wearing my boots.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and huffed out a laugh before shaking his blogger hard to wake him.

“GET. UP.”

John turned his head to look at Sherlock; opening his eye a crack he glared angrily before stretching and almost rolling from the bed in an attempt to force himself out of the warm covers. Within ten minutes both men were dressed and standing outside of Baker Street where Sherlock hailed a cab and gave the address of the yard. John sat silently staring out of the window, he was often grumpy on a morning, especially if he had been rudely woken and hadn’t had his morning cup of tea.

“John, I insist you stop moping,” Sherlock grumbled as he tapped away at his phone, “It’s very unbecoming.”

“And you’re _becoming_ a massive pain in my arse,” John hissed in reply, “Just… shut up.”

Sherlock smiled to himself as the taxi took them to Lestrade who was sitting at his desk looking over the case files from the first responders.

“Ah, Lestrade. How is my brother?” Sherlock asked as he flounced into Greg’s office, leaving John to close the door behind them.

John looked up shocked and checked that nobody had heard but thankfully the office was almost empty.

“Traumatised at your behaviour,” Greg growled in warning, “Believe me, if I didn’t need you for this case you wouldn’t be here you utter prick.”

“Is that how you speak to your future brother in law?” Sherlock continued, mercilessly ribbing Greg until John noticed that the DI was becoming increasingly irate.

“What’s the case?” John asked quickly, deflecting Greg’s thoughts of strangling Sherlock with his own ridiculous scarf.

“Robbery,” Lestrade answered, throwing the files over the desk towards Sherlock, “Six houses were hit simultaneously during the night, all robbed of their valuables and the owners tied up. One person killed via shotgun blast.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and absently drifted away into _thinking mode_ while John and Greg stood awkwardly; neither wanting to broach the topic which was desperately evident.

“So,” John started.

“Yeah,” Greg replied.

“Holmes Brothers, eh?” John said with a smile.

“Tell me about it,” the DI laughed.

“At least we’ll have each other to keep us sane,” John said breaking the tension and relaxing the DI who seemed to breathe easier.

“Has he taken you shopping yet?” Greg nodded to Sherlock who was studying the files intensely.

“Yeah, brand new suit from some swanky boutique I probably wouldn’t be able to pass without feeling like scum,” John admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand “Mycroft too?”

“Yup,” Greg said with a nod, taking a sip of his freezing cold tea which had been standing for too long, “The price of the things!”

“Security alarms,” Sherlock mumbled before clicking into action and pointing at Greg, “I need to be on your computer.”

Greg moved to one side and allowed Sherlock to pull up a chair; with quick and nimble fingers Sherlock hacked into the records of the security companies and swiftly found the information he needed.

“All of the victims had the same security alarm from the same company. A company who can turn off each alarm from their central point,” Sherlock explained, “Your suspect worked there and probably worked with a local gang who did the actual robberies in order to get a cut of the profit.”

“Can you narrow it down?” Greg asked.

“Yes, God forbid you’d have to do actual police work,” Sherlock sighed, “the man you’re looking for is mid to late 40s, married with children, lives in an affluent area and has a wife who spends too much. Possibly a gambling addiction, I’m guessing online bingo,” Sherlock drawled, “He will have met the gang during a speed awareness class or similar. He has no criminal history but a few speeding or lower offences. If you find him, you’ll find the gang as he’ll try to make a deal in order to get out of doing time.”

“Okay,” Greg said while making notes, “Thanks for the help.”

“Not a problem,” Sherlock nodded and stood, taking John by the hand and walking out into the office where Donovan exited the lift. Her eyes lingered on the two men holding hands as she gaped and stared.

“No!” she laughed, “Don’t tell me that the freak has finally worn you down.”

Sherlock put his head down and continued to walk to the lift until he was stopped by John standing directly in front of Sally, his eyes aflame with controlled anger and rage.

“Sally, no one wants to hear your opinion. How about you shut your mouth?” John asked, his tone staying calm and steady, “Our relationship is nothing to do with you.”

“I’m just saying I’m surprised,” Sally laughed, unafraid of John’s show of snarling teeth.

“Sally?” Sherlock said softly looking over at the doctor, “You should speak to John about your rash.”

“What rash?” Sally spluttered.

“The Herpes which has flared up. John might be able to offer you treatment advice as a doctor but I’d speak to Anderson if I were you,” Sherlock said, giving her one of his genuine smiles at John before the pair was off again. Standing in the lift John stuck up his middle finger until the doors closed leaving the pair giggling like children at Sally’s shocked face.

* * *

 

Sherlock stood playing his violin at the window as John washed up the day’s pots before pulling out the ingredients for dinner.

“I’m making Spaghetti Bolognese, is that okay?” he asked Sherlock who was miles away in his own little world. John smiled and looked over fondly at his best friend and shouted, “Locke? Are you listening?”

Sherlock snapped from his daze and looked around at John who repeated the statement to which Sherlock nodded; he enjoyed eating John’s food. Sherlock put down the violin and walked to the fridge to grab the bottle of red wine they had been saving. Uncorking it he let it breathe before pouring two glasses and handing one to John with a soft peck on the lips.

John cooked and hummed along to the radio while Sherlock skimmed through the internet and his emails until John called over that the food was ready; the pair sat opposite one another at the clean kitchen table and tore off lumps of the homemade and still warm garlic bread which was in the middle. Sipping at their wine the pair talked happily and sedately as they enjoyed their meal.

The food went down a treat; as did the two bottles of wine they polished off after the meal on the sofa together as they attempted to focus on a TV show. John had been interested in watching Game of Thrones for a while but finding anything to interest Sherlock was impossible ( _unless it was dreadful daytime TV talk shows)_ however the nature of the programme seemed to enthral the detective who sat staring at the TV show occasionally blinking or reaching for more wine.

John shuffled awkwardly in his seat as a dwarf was given oral sex by a big breasted redhead; John wondered how Sherlock’s slightly red stained lips would look stretched around his prick and was completely unaware that Sherlock was watching his reaction.

“What does that feel like?” Sherlock asked, pointing to the screen with the TV remote.

“What?” John slurred, trying to avoid dribbling.

“That. The blow job,” Sherlock motioned to the screen.

“Oh… erm… nice,” John replied.

“Honestly John, are you even trying? I’ve read the flowy poetic language you use on the blog and suddenly when I ask for a description I get “nice”?” Sherlock huffed, raising an eyebrow, “Oh, really.”

“Sorry, hold on,” John grumbled as he sat up slightly and paused the show with the other remote. He looked over at Sherlock and closed his eyes to remember the sensation, “It’s like… imagine wrapping yourself in wet and warm velvet but it’s better than that because there is a tongue and suction, it’s just… perfect.”

“I’d like to try that,” Sherlock whispered, his cheeks flushed and his cock hard.

John looked gently at him.

 _We will, Sherlock_ , he thought fondly. _In time._

* * *

 

The men’s nightly masturbation hadn’t abated in the time they had been together; instead, the pair had taken turns to take themselves in hand in the bathroom before retiring to bed together. Unable to comfortably bear himself to Sherlock for the first time John had been putting it off but now he was certain that he could go ahead with the next stage of their relationship. The wine buzzed pleasantly through his veins and he could feel the erection pushing against his pyjama bottoms as the pair walked into the bedroom together and climbed under the bedclothes still entirely dressed. Sherlock stripped off his shirt and trousers, leaving him clad in only underwear whilst John was slightly more nervous of undressing.

“Okay?” Sherlock whispered, kissing the corner of John’s mouth tenderly.

“Yeah, just… scared,” John admitted, feeling pathetic and weak.

“Why are you scared?” Sherlock asked, softly nuzzling his peaked nose across the slightly stubbled skin of John’s neck.

“Because look at you,” John grumbled, “You’re a fucking marble statue come to life… and me? I’m a short, squat fella with a bust shoulder.”

Sherlock frowned and shook his head.

“No. You’re not that at all… well… maybe a bit short.” He smiled reassuringly. “But not for me. For me you’re beautiful.”

“How can I be beautiful?” John grimaced.

“Let me show you. Please?” Sherlock asked carefully, rubbing his hands under John’s shirt and stroking the slightly furry skin beneath the fabric.

John nodded and allowed Sherlock to pull down his pyjama bottoms until he was in only his shirt and pants; Sherlock kissed the outside of the boxers, making them wet with his own saliva before peeling them away from John’s skin.

John focussed all of his slightly wine fuzzled brain power on becoming hard as Sherlock licked and sucked at his flaccid cock. John could feel the pleasure just below the surface but he was unable to force himself to stand erect regardless of what Sherlock did. The detective tried every trick he had ever seen in porn before sitting back on his heels and staring at John.

“Why isn’t it up?” Sherlock asked quizzically.

“I don’t know,” John said uncomfortably, embarrassment fast approaching him until he was disappointed in himself and mortified.

“You’ve never had trouble with it before,” Sherlock mumbled, his tone betraying that he was upset, “Is it me?”

“What? No! Of course not!” John hurried to say “I’ve had too much wine.”

Slowly Sherlock slid out of bed and began pacing the room, his boxers clinging to every curve of his plush arse as he marched back and forth.

“I’ve seen you come in from nights out, absolutely steaming drunk with a woman and go upstairs and _fuck_ _,_ therefore I can only assume it’s my fault.”

“Sherlock,” John groaned, “Locke, it’s nothing like that, love.”

“Is it because of my genitals? I bet it’s because of my genitals,” Sherlock said angrily as he continued his constant pace, “You’re repulsed by me, aren’t you?”

“No, never,” John began to laugh, only realising that it was the wrong thing to do as Sherlock stopped pacing before storming into the bathroom and locking the adjoining door. “Shite.”

* * *

 

John sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the door. He needed to make it up to Sherlock somehow but he wasn’t entirely sure how. He had just come to the decision to tell him that just because he wasn’t erect didn’t mean he wasn’t aroused as suddenly Sherlock flung open the door and strode into the bedroom.

“I understand,” Sherlock said finally after a moment of silence, “You have erectile dysfunction.”

John shook his head and bit his lip to stop the giggle of the ridiculous scenario.

“No, I just got overwhelmed a bit. I very much liked what you were doing.”

Sherlock stilled and looked down at his partner before sitting beside him and wrapping an arm around his shoulder gently.

“Is this where I say it’s normal and happens to lots of men?”

John laughed; a deep belly rumble which immediately set Sherlock off too until they laid on their backs with their feet still on the floor. John turned his head and kissed Sherlock passionately before suggesting they move to a comfortable position on the mattress. They wiggled further up the bed until John was lying on his back with Sherlock resting on his chest.

“Has it happened before?” Sherlock asked softly.

John huffed a laugh and nodded.

“My wedding night.”

“I bet that went down well,” Sherlock mumbled, pressing a kiss directly over John’s heart.

“I was too busy wondering where you were,” John said, adding, “why you left, where you’d gone, if you were safe… or using,” he trailed off.

“I wasn’t,” Sherlock explained, “I just went home.”

“Why did you leave?” John probed.

“You have to realise… I sometimes make deductions and don’t realise how personal some can be. When I deduced Mary I saw that she was in love with you and you loved her… so I stopped.” Sherlock blushed as he spoke. “The night of your wedding… when I noticed the signs of a baby, I couldn’t stop thinking that you would be taken away from me again. I’d be left alone and I was okay with you being happy. I wanted you to be happy,” Sherlock trailed off.

“I wasn’t happy without you,” John admitted.

“I know,” Sherlock replied.

 

* * *

 

The two men cuddled for a bit longer until John had relaxed into an almost sleepy state before he realised that Sherlock was stroking his bulge gently; his long and precise fingers nimbly wrapping around John’s growing erection and stroking him through the fabric of his pants. John groaned and bucked his hips into Sherlock’s fist as they moved together.

“Is this okay?” Sherlock asked cautiously, watching as John closed his eyes, bit his lip and nodded.

The detective reached inside his partner’s underwear and gripped him tightly but carefully, his hand stroking up and down the length before adding a flick of his wrist as he reached the very tip which was beginning to leak slightly over Sherlock’s fist. John groaned wantonly and thrust his hips harder and faster as Sherlock touched him, skimming his thumb over the slit and collecting the precum to rub it along the shaft. His other hand dipped into his own underwear and began to stroke his own prick in time, thankful that he was able to use both for his own pleasure; John growled and moved a hand to cup Sherlock’s face, bringing it up to meet his own as they snogged passionately, their tongues meeting in a frenzied and wild rhythm as the pleasure built from their toes up their spines.

Sherlock broke first; his moans swallowed by John who gasped and moaned in tandem as he felt Sherlock shudder through his orgasm and fill his underwear with sticky, creamy cum. John followed soon after, his seed soaking his pants and Sherlock’s fist whilst his back arched and he gasped Sherlock’s name.

The pair lay sated and happy together until the cloying feeling of cooling semen had them itching. Pulling off their pants they cleaned up quickly before climbing under the bedding naked, entwined in each other’s arms as they kissed and said goodnight, falling into a deep and dreamless sleep almost immediately.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by  
> [ Iriya]()

John walked to work at the clinic; the weather was mild and rather pleasant, allowing him to walk and enjoy the sun beaming down on his face. He reached the clinic and said his usual good mornings to the other staff before shutting himself in the consulting room as he opened his computer and checked his work emails. There had been a sudden rise in the number of children coming in with chicken pox but nothing to worry about; John took his mobile from his pocket and placed it into the drawer as his computer beeped that his first patient was waiting,

* * *

 

Sherlock awoke momentarily terrified that John had been kidnapped before remembering the day and that John had gone to the clinic. He vaguely remembered saying goodbye and receiving a soft peck on the forehead as John left the flat, allowing him to indulge in a sleep in.

Stretching his body out on the bed he made a croaky roar noise as he felt the blissful pull on his muscles before scratching himself absently. His crotch was still slightly flaked with dried cum from the night before and he realised he would need to shower and soon. Standing up he walked naked to the bathroom and started the water before grabbing his towel and climbing under the cascade of water, feeling the grime and sleepiness wash away in the hot water. He cleaned himself effectively as his mind began to wander.

_John at Holmes Manor… John meeting his mother… John seeing embarrassing photographs… his mother was sure to pull out the one photograph he hated when she had bathed him naked in the kitchen sink…_

Sherlock swallowed cautiously and imagined John smiling at the cute scene and remembering the view of Sherlock’s tiny pudgy body splashing in the kitchen sink.

_Mycroft will tell stories; he’ll tell John and Lestrade about the time he caught Sherlock licking a rock as the gardeners son had told him it tasted like actual seaside rock._

Sherlock could feel his mind whirling, his breathing was bordering on a panic attack as he remembered every embarrassing moment of his life which might be disclosed to John. The detective rushed from the shower naked and still soaking into the bedroom where he grabbed his mobile and composed a text to John, sending it immediately.

**What if my mother asks you personal questions? - SH**

 

* * *

 

John was taking a break between patients when he heard his text tone muffled by the sturdy desk drawer. Pulling it out he read the text and smiled before replying;

 

**Then I’ll answer them. Stop worrying. – JW**

 

Sherlock had wrapped a sheet around his body and was wearing his towel as a turban whilst turning on the TV ( _9.25am, The Jeremy Kyle Show. His guilty secret pleasure)_ when his mobile beeped he read the message and huffed a chuckle.

 

**My mother will no doubt insist on showing family photographs - SH**

__

John read the message and smiled. Sherlock was obviously freaking out over the idea that somebody he actually cared about would be meeting his mother for the first time. John thought back to the times he had met his partner’s parents in the past; they had always liked him, he managed to charm them and set them at ease almost immediately and he assumed he would do the same with the Holmes clan. Ms Holmes couldn’t be any worse than Mycroft.

His next patient arrived with an emergency which resulted in him rushing through referrals and contacting outside organisations for support leaving him feeling pumped and full of adrenalin when he was finally allowed to leave. He hailed a cab and returned to Baker Street, rushing up the stairs.

“Welcome home,” Sherlock smiled sweetly; his hair was dry but he was still only clad in his sheet.

John strode across the room and grabbed Sherlock from his seat, pulling him up and into his arms passionately as the doctor pressed their lips together. Sherlock was momentarily taken aback before relaxing and reciprocating the kiss, his lips opening slightly to allow their tongues to join in as John walked the younger man backwards against the back wall where they had been the day Mycroft interrupted. Sherlock’s face was flushed as he allowed himself to be manhandled against the wall, feeling John moving his lips to place soft and tender kisses along Sherlock’s neck and throat, up to his earlobes and nuzzling into Sherlock’s jawline. The detective groaned and threw back his head, uncaring that he banged his head hard onto the wall as John lapped and sucked at his pale neck, leaving a trail of pink tinged bruises on the lower part of Sherlock’s neck where they could be covered.

“I missed you all day and I know I said to take it slow but, I want you,” John groaned lustily, his cock pressing against Sherlock’s hip as he whispered into his lover’s ear, “May I?”

“Yes,” Sherlock breathily whispered, his legs feeling like they would give way at any moment due to the erotic nature of the event.

John smiled and moved his hands from Sherlock’s waist to pull off the sheet until it fluttered to the floor leaving Sherlock naked, flushed and almost unbearably aroused. John ran his hands up and down Sherlock’s soft skin, feeling each flaw and imperfection as he catalogued it all away in his memory. He wrapped his hand around Sherlock’s prick and began a slow and steady rhythm; flicking his wrist at the top he realised how much of an awkward position they were in but he didn’t want to stop, the noises escaping Sherlock’s lips were too intoxicating.

Moving back to kiss Sherlock’s lips he used his second hand to cup Sherlock’s silken bollocks; rolling them in his hand skilfully as his other fist stroked up and down and his lips remained stuck to Sherlock’s throat and mouth.

“You’re so beautiful,” John groaned into the kiss as he combined a flick of his wrist with a rather harsh tug on Sherlock’s testicles, listening to the younger man groan and arch against his own body.

“John,” Sherlock moaned, his brain completely short-circuited from the dizzying lust which rushed through him.

Gasping and groaning Sherlock moved one hand to cup John’s cheek whilst the other stroked over John’s denim at the large bulge beneath. John groaned at the friction and pressed closer to his lover, trapping Sherlock’s hand between their hips as he rutted furiously.

Sherlock was close; he could feel the curled pleasure reaching its peak and choked out a warning ( _a sound which John wanted to remember for his entire life)_ as John continued to stroke and rub perfectly. Sherlock’s breathing hitched, his back arched and his eyes closed tightly as he came with a muffled cry. John followed immediately after, flooding his underwear with his sticky ejaculate whilst coaxing the remaining drips of Sherlock’s orgasm from his cock. The two men were panting hard and lusty as they caught their breaths, meeting for chaste and tender kisses as they enjoyed the afterglow of their orgasms.

“John… I may have got a little on you,” Sherlock said with a blush, looking down at the huge mess of white streaks which covered John’s jeans.

“A little?!” the doctor giggled, “I can’t really comment, though considering the inside is probably worse.”

Sherlock was quiet for a moment, allowing John to let go of Sherlock’s skin and create some space between them to allow Sherlock to pick up and reapply his sheet. The detective glanced at John before adding, “Can I have your trousers?”

“For what?” John laughed,

“Experiment,” Sherlock smiled coyly, “I want to measure my angle of trajectory.”

“Christ,” John laughed harder, “No. We’re going away tomorrow. You’re not spending our last night in our home hunched over your microscope looking at sperm.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, John,” Sherlock grumbled as he flounced back to the sofa, “I wouldn’t be using the microscope.”

* * *

Sherlock was busy fiddling with John’s trousers ( _unfortunately, the doctor wasn’t in them)_ whilst John sat catching up with one of his favourite shows. The quiet in the flat was calming and serene as John sipped his drink and listened to the occasional scratch of Sherlock making notes.

“We should start packing soon,” John reminded cautiously.

Sherlock hadn’t mentioned them going away yet and he knew for certain that the detective hadn’t begun to order his belongings.

John listened for an answer only to be met with silence; he tried once more and realised that Sherlock had disappeared from the kitchen and was fussing in his bedroom. The sound of large feet between the front room and bedroom had John twisting his head in time to see Sherlock carrying an armful of clothing which was unceremoniously dropped at John’s feet.

“There.”

“Oh, you’re just going to put them in a bin bag, aren’t you?” John laughed. “Turn up like Dick Whittington.”

“Who?… We’ll have to share a case if we’re going to look like a couple,” Sherlock insisted, causing John to suddenly realise he was right.

With a soft mumble of “git” John stood and walked to his own bedroom, sorting out his underwear and clothing he wanted to take before returning and adding them to the pile. Sherlock had brought a large wheeled case to the living room and sat on his chair, watching John intensely.

John began folding the clothes, putting their shoes into the case first and then adding clothing on top in a military fashion. As they were staying a week, Sherlock had insisted on buying John new trousers, shirts, jumpers and cardigans during their trip into town along with a brand new pair of expensive pyjamas which had caused John to cough and stare at the price tag which was quickly waved away by Sherlock.

The thought of mixing their underwear suddenly seemed far more intimate than it had any right to be; the two men had indulged in mutual masturbation and shared a bed, snogged and even embarrassed Mycroft with a _not so gentle_ ribbing on their sex life but John was struck by the huge change in their relationship. Whenever they had travelled in the past, the pair had always had separate suitcases, but now? Everything was different.

“Stop thinking John,” Sherlock said with a grin from his chair, flicking the paper page over. “It’s annoying.”

“So’s your face,” John grumbled under his breath, realising that he was being completely childish but uncaring.

“My face is annoying?” Sherlock asked confused. “Am I doing that face thing again? Because quite honestly, John, I don’t think I am. I’m just doing my 'normal face' face.”

“It doesn’t matter, Locke,” John smiled softly, realising how much he adored the man in front of him. “Do you want your pants folded any particular way or will it suffice to be chucked in with mine?”

Sherlock looked horrified and moved to sit beside John; grabbing his pants he folded them delicately and placed them softly into the case with a frown.

“If they’re not folded, I’d have to iron them.”

“You iron your underwear?” John asked.

“Not usually. I have an index and a tidy way of folding,” Sherlock replied before grabbing a pair of bright red Y-fronts which belonged to John. “Oh.”

“Sherlock, put them down,” John warned. “Stop touching my pants.”

“I like them,” Sherlock grinned. “I want to see you in them.”

“My God, just… go and look at the spermy trousers and let me get on with this job,” John said, flushing red with embarrassment and frustration.

 

* * *

 

Eventually John had packed the case including all of their clothes, toiletries ( _Sherlock apparently needed three different types of mousse for his curls)_ and aftershaves leaving only the suits which were to be delivered first thing the next morning. Sherlock had become bored of his experiment and had almost given in to the craving to see how quickly they would dissolve before John called him through to continue watching Game of Thrones. John sat with his arm on the sofa and a can of Lager to sip whilst Sherlock flung himself dramatically onto the sofa and placed his head on John’s lap; Sherlock took John’s spare hand and thrust it into his curls as a rather large clue that he wanted John to play with his hair.

The two men enjoyed the moment together; laughing at the show and relaxing into each other’s company before retiring to bed. Sherlock had claimed he wouldn’t be able to sleep through nerves and decided to stay awake and read in bed while John slept; the doctor had woken up hours later desperate for a wee and found the detective fast asleep sitting up, his book hanging from his leg and the pencil still perched between his fingers. John returned to bed after relieving himself and slowly worked Sherlock down the mattress, taking away the book and pencil until he laid flat, allowing John to cuddle close to him and wrap his fingers around and around in Sherlock’s curls until sleep once more overtook him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If there is anything in particular you would like me to try to add into the story then comment and I'll see what I can do!
> 
> Beta'd by  
> [ Iriya]()

John was singing loudly in the shower when the suits arrived via courier; Mrs Hudson called up for Sherlock who rushed down and signed for them before rushing back up the stairs ( _after kissing Mrs H on the cheek and wishing her a good morning)._

“John, the suits are here!” Sherlock called against the wooden door of the bathroom. John was still happily singing along to Bob Marley and rubbing shampoo into his hair as he boogied along to the music which was playing from his tinny speakers on his mobile. Sherlock opened the door a crack and watched the shape behind the shower curtain sway from side to side, wiggling his bum slightly as he sang.

“ _Is_ _this love? Is this love? Is this love? Is this love that I’m feeling?”_

Sherlock felt a strange sensation in his heart and lower stomach as he watched John pick up his loofah to sing along into. A smile broke out across Sherlock’s face as John rinsed away the suds from his hair and body before giving a final bum wiggle and moving to step out of the bathtub.

“Jesus, Locke,” John startled as he saw the door ajar and Sherlock standing with a huge smile. “Scared me… how long have you been there?” he said with blush.

“Only just opened the door,” Sherlock lied with a shrug. “The suits are here.”

“Oh… okay. I’ll just be a second,” John smiled and nodded as he wrapped a towel around his waist and moved to brush his teeth.

He assumed that Sherlock must have heard him through the door but showed much appreciated decorum by not mentioning his probably awful singing.

* * *

 

John entered the living room still clad in only a towel while using a second to dry off his hair. His face was covered at the exact moment when Sherlock’s self-control snapped and the detective launched himself across the room to press his front against John’s back. John startled slightly and dropped the towel from his hair, turning around to first smile at Sherlock and then to press a soft kiss on Sherlock’s bow lips. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John’s chest, his long fingers easily skimming over the protruding nubs of his nipples as he kissed around John’s neck and throat seductively.

“You smell nice,” the younger man whispered against his skin.

John groaned and pressed back, pulling himself closer to Sherlock who smiled and ran one hand down the long creamy expanse of the doctor’s chest and stomach until his callused fingers were resting over the prominent bulge barely hidden by the white towel wrapped around his waist.

Sherlock remembered the last time he had attempted to wank John off and decided not to focus on the erectile issues; running his fingers over the thick shaft he nuzzled at John’s ear and whispered, “Please, may I?”

John shuddered with lust as he nodded; Sherlock’s voice had gone deep and rumbling, his eyes blown to an almost black hue and John realised he would never, ever be able to turn down the detective when he said please. Whatever had caused him to pounce on him, he wasn’t about to say no to that. Smiling, he used his hand to open his towel to allow it to fall to the floor, baring himself completely in the Baker Street living room.

Before the gunshot, John had never been self-conscious; living in barracks with hundreds of other men didn’t give you much of a choice but standing beside Sherlock, flushed and naked was almost too daunting for the doctor who attempted to cover his genitals with his hands. Cupping them to hide from his lover.

“Don’t,” Sherlock whispered.

Moving to face John he took both sides of John’s head into his hands and placed a tender kiss on his lips.

“I want to see you, I like seeing you. You’re amazing.”

John blushed and looked down at the floor as Sherlock returned to his position standing behind John; the detective took down his own tailored trousers but stopped at his boxer shorts which were tented with obviously arousal. John turned his head and nodded to Sherlock who quickly pulled those down too until both men rested against one another, skin against skin as his throbbing erection pushed out between his shirt tails.

Sherlock groaned at the intimate contact between John and himself; running a hand around John’s front he carefully replaced his own hands over John’s cock and began a slow and steady rhythm, his lips returning to John’s neck and throat to place breathy little kisses over the soft skin.

“Christ,” John mumbled, as he thrust forward into Sherlock’s hand.

He was then pushed backwards against Sherlock’s cock, feeling the stiff prick rest between his buttocks on each pass. John ground his hips in small circles and awkwardly bent his arms backwards to grab Sherlock’s buttocks, pulling him closer and pushing him away in order to get more of the perfect friction.

Sherlock had expected more resistance to the act but finding John pliant and willing was a huge turn on; he thrust his hips and felt the warm, wet heat of John’s shower wet skin touching his most intimate of areas until he felt the urge to climax was too much. Pulling away he flicked his wrist at John’s tip and felt the flowing precum over his fist as he kissed and sucked at John’s neck.

“Sh-Sherlock, close,” John warned, his hips thrusting forward without thinking and causing Sherlock’s cock to push between his cheeks and brush against his hole. That was all it took before John was crying out and grabbing Sherlock’s arse with rough fingernails as he came; hot and heavy strands of white erupted from his cock to fall to the floor as he gasped and writhed in Sherlock’s grasp. The detective couldn’t hold his own orgasm any longer and came with a broken sob against the back of John’s neck as his prick twitched and erupted, covering the inside of John’s buttocks and thighs with his ejaculate.

John froze at the strange sensation before relaxing and turning his head for a long and passionate kiss whilst Sherlock shuddered as the last drops of his orgasm abated.

“My God,” John moaned against Sherlock’s lips.

“You distracted me from the suit,” Sherlock complained with a faux pout. “How can you look like that?”

“Me?” John laughed. “It’s a good job we didn’t decide to get dressed first.”

He pulled away from Sherlock’s body, feeling his own skin slick with semen and sweat. “For fuck’s sake. I’ll need another shower now.”

“Shall I join you?” Sherlock asked with an upturned eyebrow.

“God, yes,” John smiled, turning and kissing Sherlock passionately as they moved back to the bathroom.

 

* * *

 

When their shower was complete the two men dried off and readied themselves for the journey to the Holmes Manor. Sherlock brought the suit bags into the bedroom, which held their new outfits which made John slightly nervous,

“What if it doesn’t fit?” John asked cautiously.

“It’s perfectly tailored to your body,” Sherlock smiled.

“But what if it isn’t?” John mumbled.

“If it doesn’t fit, you can wear your normal suit or your pyjamas for all I care,” Sherlock soothed, kissing John gently.

John smiled at the reassurance and nodded whilst unzipping the suit bag. The first thing he noticed was the deep blue colour which was rich and tasteful. Pulling out the fabrics he laid them carefully onto the bed and began to dress, starting with a brand new pair of black boxer shorts. Sherlock watched intensely from across the room as John pulled on his trousers ( _which perfectly accentuated his amazing arse)_ followed by the crisp white shirt and matching blue waistcoat. John fiddled with his sleeves and looked up nervously, stilling when he saw Sherlock’s eyes were blown wide and his mouth was open.

“You look… fantastic,” Sherlock stammered, watching as John blushed and looked down.

“I should hope so, the price of it,” John said with a smile.

Pulling on his jacket he looked into the mirror and had to admit that it was a very, very nice suit.

Sherlock dressed in his own black suit and combined it with a blue shirt which was slightly lighter than John’s suit making them look perfectly matching. They styled their hair and were spraying themselves with cologne when the call from Mycroft’s driver came in that he was ready for them downstairs. Taking one final look at themselves in the mirror, Sherlock grabbed his coat and helped John into his before taking the suitcase and walking down the stairs to Mrs Hudson’s flat. They bid the landlady goodbye before walking outside and climbing into the waiting car.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi people!
> 
> So, I know I usually post at least once/twice a day but I've recently found myself an amazing and lovely Beta who is working through this mess to try to make sense of it. I won't be posting anything else until we're up to date but after that, I should have a fully readable story! 
> 
> It shouldn't be too long. I pinky promise, feel free to keep commenting (it gives me a reason to liveeee!)
> 
> Beta'd by  
> [ Iriya]()

As the manor house came into view, John was amazed at the size of the place. A huge driveway led to an ivy covered brick structure with more windows than John could count. He looked over at Sherlock, who was looking wistfully out of the car window.

“Locke? You okay?” John asked, entwining his fingers with Sherlock’s longer ones.

“I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be fine?” he spluttered, his eyes opened wide and slightly frantic. “It’s only returning to my childhood home.”

“Shh,” John soothed, kissing Sherlock softly and cupping his cheek with his spare hand. “Relax, I’m right here with you.”

“John, we could just go away. Let’s just run back to London… or we could go on holiday. Claim a case unexpectedly came up and that it’s a matter of national security.” Sherlock was panicking now, his hand gripping John’s tightly. “Please.”

“Sherlock, we’re here now. Just relax, love,” John smiled. “I’m going to be right with you.”

“I know! And they’re going to tell you things! Embarrassing things!” Sherlock cringed.

“What are you worried about?” John asked softly.

“That… you’ll laugh at me,” Sherlock flushed, “and realise it was a mistake for us to be together.”

“That’s not going to happen,” John insisted passionately. “Regardless.”

“I just… care… a lot… for you,” Sherlock stammered. “Not the way I care for others, like Lestrade or Molly, but differently, in a way I don’t understand. It makes my stomach hurt, John.”

John blinked and stayed silent for a moment before snapping back to reality.

“I feel the same way. Everything will be fine.”

* * *

 

The car pulled to a stop outside the manor where a selection of people waited anxiously; Sherlock groaned deeply when he saw Mycroft standing beside his mother.

“Of course Mycroft is already here,” Sherlock grimaced, “I bet he’s been telling them all sorts of stories.”

“Let him, love,” John said with a shrug. “We have our own stories to tell.”

Sherlock looked at his lover and gave a shy smile before nodding and opening the door. Climbing out he reached for John’s hand and helped him out of the door before the pair walked hand in hand towards Sherlock’s family.

“Hello Mummy, it’s nice to see you again. May I introduce my partner to you? This is Dr John Watson,” Sherlock said with aproud face his eyes lighting up as he saw John’s genuine smile. “John Watson, my mother Emma Holmes.”

Mrs Holmes greeted him, her face bright and open as she took John’s hand in a warm handshake. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Dr Watson.”

“Call me John, please,” John insisted with a charming smile. “The only people who call me Dr Watson are my patients, my parents and for some reason… Mycroft.”

Mycroft gave a fake smile and sneered at both men immediately causing Mummy Holmes to turn to chastise her eldest.

“Mycie! Is this true? And take that silly look off your face.”

Sherlock grinned and hid his triumphant happiness from his face as he and John shared a lingering look. Mycroft apologised and lowered his head, reaching for Greg’s hand who stood beside him.

“Greg,” John nodded towards his friend. “You look dashing in your suit.”

The DI was wearing a brand new, obviously expensive designer suit which was perfectly cut to sit on Greg’s frame. The dark material caused his hair to look sparkling in the sunlight and his eyes to appear brighter.

“As do you,” Greg said with a red tinge in his cheeks, rubbing his hand across his neck. “Hi Sherlock.”

“Gavin,” Sherlock nodded in greeting before kissing his mother’s cheek and linking arms with her. “Is there any tea going?”

* * *

 

As the party wasn’t scheduled until the following evening, their first night was spent relaxing and catching up with one another. John immediately found that he liked Emma’s company and found her extremely warm and witty. He also enjoyed that she chastised Mycroft for every snide remark towards Sherlock whilst seemingly ignoring any comments made by the younger Holmes. Sherlock relaxed and snuggled up to John. Resting his head onto John’s shoulder he listened to John regale his mother with stories from the war, from his time in the hospital and talking openly about his own family far more than he would normally.

“My dad wasn’t particularly nice,” John admitted with a casual shrug. “My Grandad was my main male role model. He came to every graduation, every passing out parade and march I did. He was a great man.”

“Do you speak to your family much?” Emma asked, taking a sip of her tea and relaxing against the sofa whilst stroking her dog ( _a fat and old beagle named Piper who had taken an immediate liking to Greg and constantly sniffed his genitals, much to the DI’s embarrassment)_ _._

“Not very often,” John admitted. “I try to keep in touch with my sister but she’s the only family I have left now… except Sherlock.”

Sherlock snapped his head up and blushed as John met his eyes and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“I’m just thankful I got him back.”

Emma smiled softly and John noticed tears in her eyes which she immediately blinked away whilst chastising herself for becoming a sentimental fool in her old age.

Sherlock squeezed John’s hand tenderly before relaxing back into the comfortable surroundings.

“We’ve had your old rooms refreshed for you,” Emma smiled at Sherlock and Mycroft. “I trust you remember where they are.”

Both men nodded and stood to leave pressing a kiss to their mother’s cheek. Then they left the room with their lovers in tow to their bedrooms where they would be staying for the next week.

 

* * *

 

“This was your room?” John asked gobsmacked, taking in the surroundings.

“Yes,” Sherlock shrugged bored. “Well… one of them.”

The room was huge and grand. The large bed sat directly opposite massive bay windows which illuminated the entire room with sunlight. Each of the walls were covered with framed certificates showing Sherlock’s various achievements and his entry letters to three separate top rated universities. John walked around the room and skimmed his fingers over the framed certificates with a smile.

“Your mother even framed your swimming awards?” John smiled kindly. “That’s so sweet.”

“Only after I moved out,” Sherlock explained as he began hanging up the suit bags and depositing their belongings into various drawers and wardrobes.

John looked out of the window that overlooked the green fields surrounding the manor which seemed to stretch forever. He watched a flock of sheep as they chomped through the grass and frolicked in the warm sun.

“This is lovely,” John said with a smile. “Beautiful.”

Sherlock joined John at the window and entwined their fingers together as they watched the clouds chasing each other in the sky.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!
> 
> Sorry for the delay. My amazing beta has finished reading my nonsense so far so I now have to focus on writing the rest, 
> 
> This chapter has a lot of names in it (Lords and Ladies) which I have taken from my love of The Tudors. I don't know if these titles still exist but I don't suppose it matters much.
> 
> Enjoy!

After a modest but delicious breakfast Sherlock took John out to explore the grounds of the manor; the pair held hands as they chatted about everything and nothing whilst Sherlock pointed out various interesting facts about the local foliage or architecture. John was enjoying the walk and stopped numerous times to kiss Sherlock passionately, cupping his detective’s face with his palms as their eyes met and passion burned behind them.

Sherlock walked John into the stables as they snogged like teenagers; pushing his lover against the stable door they giggled slightly before pushing open the door and stepping inside. The smell of hay and lingering aroma of horse made John wrinkle his nose but his cock was fully in charge of proceedings as Sherlock took him by the hand and pulled him further into the warm building,

They stopped when they heard a soft snuffle; Sherlock had experienced wild animals entering the barn a few times in order to give birth or keep warm but he wasn’t expecting… _this._

Mycroft was pulling up his trousers in a rush as Greg awkwardly tucked away his obvious erection; both men were crimson red at being interrupted by Sherlock and John and anxiously rushed to cover themselves and their intimate scenario.

“Oh… Oh, my God,” Sherlock said, making a retching noise. “That… that is disgusting.”

“Sherlock,” Mycroft groaned, his voice sounding hoarse and John was sure that if they hadn’t made as much noise, they may have walked in on the full show.

Greg’s face was so red that John was momentarily worried that the DI might have a cardiac arrest as the two couples awkwardly stood opposite each other. All thoughts of sexual activity flew away from their minds at the strange scenario.

“I can’t… I don’t think I’ll ever have sex again,” Sherlock grumbled. “You’ve ruined sex for me Mycroft. I hope you’re happy.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Mycroft complained as he cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair. “I thought we would be safe from prying eyes.”

“So it seemed,” John said with a smile, hating that he was causing Greg so much discomfort whilst humiliating Mycroft.

“Well, don’t let us stop you doing… _that_ ,” John said with a grin, remembering Mycroft’s words when he had interrupted them through the week. The doctor took Sherlock’s hand and walked him backwards out of the stable and back into the fresh air where the pair burst into peels of hysterical laughter when Sherlock had recovered from his shock.

* * *

 

John and Sherlock retired to their bed chamber to ready themselves for the ball which was to be held downstairs; the pair could hear the staff already milling around the manor as they erected the large marque in the garden complete with tables, chairs and a seemingly endless supply of wine and champagne. John watched from the window as Sherlock ran a bath before calling the doctor through to the steamy bathroom.

“Would you like to share a bath with me Dr Watson?” Sherlock grinned, undressing quickly and effectively, standing naked in front of his lover without shame.

John cautiously nodded and began to strip his own clothes as he clamped his hands over his genitals and climbed into the tub, spreading his legs to allow Sherlock to climb in front with his knobbly spine pressed against John’s abdomen. The doctor wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s front and held him close as the warm water and bubble bath tickled his skin.

“This is nice,” John sighed as he nuzzled into Sherlock’s curls and pulled him in tighter. “Very nice.”

“Mmm,” Sherlock replied, his eyes closed as he relaxed against his partner’s body.

“What should I expect tonight?” John asked carefully, his hands trailing up and down Sherlock’s wet skin.

“Lots of people. Dreadfully dull people,” Sherlock replied. “They’ll ask you all sorts of questions about your life, our life, my life,” he continued, “but you don’t have to tell them anything.”

“You won’t leave me?” John asked nervously. “I don’t belong around posh people.”

“I promise,” Sherlock said, a smile gracing his lips as he turned his head and kissed John softly. “I won’t leave you alone with those people.”

John nuzzled his nose against Sherlock’s neck and noticed the long, silvery scars which covered his back and sides. They had never discussed Sherlock’s time away ( _John couldn’t imagine the horror and Sherlock refused to relive it)_ but John had always been curious. Before they had become a couple John would occasionally catch sight of the scars, his own doctor training allowing him to make a quick diagnosis of what caused the wound but some were unusual in shape and texture.

“No, John,” the sound startled John out of his thoughts and brought him back to the present where he realised he had been stroking Sherlock’s longest scar with his finger. It reached from the base of his skull almost the entire way to his buttocks.

“I’m sorry, I drifted off for a while,” John replied softly, his fingers moving back to Sherlock’s front, avoiding the gunshot scar Sherlock had received from the evil she-cat he had married.

Sherlock pushed back slightly and let his head fall back onto John’s chest as he puckered his lips for a kiss; John smiled down and kissed the soft cupid bow which felt strange pressed against his lower lip.

Sherlock could feel his cock stiffening as John used his fingers to pinch and twist at Sherlock’s nipples; the sensitive flesh quickly puckering up against John’s talented fingers and the cooler air of the bathroom. John moved his hands lower and wrapped one sturdy hand around the beautifully proportioned shaft, feeling the foreskin slip back and forth over the slippery glans as Sherlock ground his shoulders and back against John’s own prick. The only sounds the men could hear were the soft sighing from them chasing their pleasure and the splashing sound of the water lapping against the high side of the bath.

“John,” Sherlock choked; he had been on edge all day since their passionate kissing in the gardens.

“Let go love, I’ve got you,” John whispered into Sherlock’s ear before nibbling on the lobe roughly, watching as Sherlock arched his back and groaned loudly as he came, long strands breeching the water and covering his stomach as John stroked him through it.

“I can…” Sherlock began to turn and grab John’s cock only to be stopped by his lover with a soft kiss.

“It’s alright. We need to get ready,” John insisted. “When we get back, I’ll let you do anything.”

Sherlock’s mind was whirring with possibilities and John momentarily regretted being quite so unspecific but shrugged it away. The pair quickly washed up before climbing out of the bath and drying off.

The two changed back into the suits which they had travelled in; Sherlock had swapped his shirt with a crisp white one to match John’s and had added a waistcoat and pocket watch. His appearance made John’s mouth water with desire. He looked like a Victorian gentleman.

The pair was soon dressed and standing beside one another in the full-sized mirror; staring at their reflection and gazing at each other lovingly. The suits fit them perfectly and John felt like he was actually presentable for the upper-class party. John moved to the bedside table and picked up his phone before opening the camera function and holding it above their heads.

“Smile,” he said as he pressed the camera button numerous times, getting various pictures in which to choose his favourite. John grinned and turned his head to kiss his cheek which was quickly snapped for prosperity on the phone. John looked at the photograph and noticed Sherlock’s sweet pink blush which had crept over his face; making him look deliciously innocent and beautiful.

“We should go,” John reminded with a smile as he looked out of the massive windows to see the first guests arriving, several high-class cars, dropping them off and driving away so the chauffeurs could catch up in the car park. John wished he could join them instead of the passengers.

* * *

 

Sherlock and John walked hand in hand towards the erected marque and reached for a glass of expensive Champagne on the way. John took a sip and winced as the bubbles went up his nose and caused his eyes to water which immediately caused Sherlock to grin.

“See those people there?” Sherlock asked nodding towards an old gentleman and his younger companion. “That’s Lord Rochford and his much, much younger wife Daphne. It caused quite a scandal in the circle as she was betrothed to his son but they maintained an affair until she became pregnant.”

“Wow,” John gasped. “Tell me more.”

Sherlock scanned the grounds and settled upon a couple flirting outrageously with a distant relative of Emma.

“The Duke and Duchess of Suffolk.”

“Jesus, I’m partying with royalty,” John gulped. “I’m seriously out of my league.”

“They hold drug-fuelled sex orgies in their manor home which includes a dungeon,” Sherlock whispered as he gave a fake smile to a passer-by. “Mycroft has his hands full attempting to stop the media publishing the scandalous story.”

“Seriously?” John laughed. “Bloody hell. How do you know about the dungeon?”

“I was invited once. I didn’t engage in anything… I just went to look around,” Sherlock grinned as he took John’s hand and walked towards his mother who was engaged in a tedious conversation with an elderly couple.

“Mother,” Sherlock smiled and pressed a kiss to Emma’s cheek. “Many happy returns.”

“Thank you, my dear” Emma said with a smile. “Oh, please, where are my manners? Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, this is Lord and Lady Wyatt.”

“Pleasure,” Sherlock charmed extending his hand for a handshake which was then followed by John who was nervous at meeting actual nobility.

“I hear you’re a doctor,” the Lord smiled down at John, “and an army doctor at that.”

“That’s right, sir,” John nodded, looking up at Sherlock who nodded softly that he was doing well. “Toured in Afghanistan mainly.”

“Hmm, dreadful place,” the man snuffed. “Full of bloody Arabs.”

“Excuse me,” Sherlock ended the conversation with a polite smile, pulling John by the arm before John could argue the racist terms. John was shocked; his eyes open wide as he looked at the detective. “Arabs?”

“They’re old fashioned bigots,” Sherlock said with an eyeroll and a shrug. “Idiots.”

* * *

 

Sherlock and John joined Mycroft and Greg at a table as food was served by the staff. John and Greg shared looks which showed just how uncomfortable they felt at the party, surrounded by aristocracy who appeared to be big fans of Sherlock and John’s blog. The doctor had been stunned when a man, who looked to be at least 300 years old, told him that he read every post on his tablet at breakfast. John had smiled and chatted about cases they had solved and had given his elderly fan some insider gossip before he was pulled by Sherlock to speak to another of his various family members.

Greg had had the same issues; the various guests had oohed and ahhed at his job title, asking him questions which Greg was unable to answer due to the privacy laws and his own reluctance to talk about work with people who had never needed to work a day in their lives. Mycroft had sensed his lover’s uneasiness and slipped his hand into Greg’s, squeezing it softly but ensuring that Lestrade felt supported as he was pulled around to socialise.

John and Greg caught one another’s eyes from across the room and nodded towards the back entrance. Excusing themselves from their conversation they quickly slipped out the back and jogged towards the orchards where it was quieter. John chuckled and pushed his hair back as Greg took out his hip flask full of whisky and passed it to his friend.

“Cheers,” they laughed as they took a swig.

They relaxed in the balmy air as they finally were able to make conversation which flowed easily and left them both at ease with each other.

“I can’t believe I let him drag me here,” Greg groaned as he pulled out a cigarette and put it between his lips before turning to John and groaning, “Shit, do you mind?”

John waved his hand dismissively and took another swig of whisky.

“I’ve been talking to fucking royalty, Greg… Royalty!”

“I know. Have you been invited to one of the Duke’s _events_?” Greg chuckled at the last word. “His sex, drug and dungeon party.”

“Thankfully no,” John laughed. “You?”

“Oh, yes, apparently me and Mycroft _must_ attend,” Greg rolled his eyes. “Like I want to go somewhere like that! I was considering putting in a hint to the drug squad to do a raid. That would teach them.”

John chuckled and sighed, “We don’t belong here.”

“But our fellas do…” Greg trailed off, blushing slightly at the term.

“We should go back, shouldn’t we?” John grumbled, passing the flask back to Lestrade who had flicked away his cigarette end.

“Yes, apparently the dancing should be starting soon.”

“Dancing? What dancing?” John groaned. “He never said anything about dancing.”

Lestrade was right; as the two men returned to the giant marque the band had begun to play soft classical music which had the older people up and in one another’s arms as they swayed along in perfect timing. Greg and John gulped nervously and took their seats beside Mycroft and Sherlock who were glaring angrily at each other ( _although neither would say why)_.

“Ah, you’re back,” Sherlock mumbled as he saw John return towards the table. Standing up, he grabbed John’s hand and put an arm around the doctor’s back before leading him to the dancefloor where he immediately positioned them into the correct stance.

“Sherlock?” John hissed. “What are you doing?”

“Dancing with my lover,” Sherlock smiled bashfully, “and escaping my brother… but mainly the first one.”

The orchestra started up as the group’s singer took to the microphone and launched into _“You make me feel so young”_ by Frank Sinatra. John smiled as Sherlock tightened his grip around his waist and began to take John through a simple box step as they joined the other dancers including Mrs Holmes who was throwing back her head and giggling happily as she was rocked side to side by an aged gentleman who had a twinkle in his eye. John smiled and rested his head against Sherlock’s chest as Sherlock squeezed their hands together and picked up the pace.

“Remember our dance lessons?” Sherlock whispered, his voice happy as he twirled John around, momentarily confusing the doctor.

“I was dreadful,” John laughed. “I thought you might shoot me.”

“Never,” Sherlock said with a smile. “Break your feet maybe, to stop you ruining the beauty in dancing.”

“Git,” John chuckled as Sherlock lifted his arm to spin John around. “Oh, am I a woman now? Charming.”

John startled when he felt Sherlock run his hand down to rest on his bum before moving back up with a smirk when John hissed, “Stop it!”

“Is this everything you expected? Dreadfully dull and tedious?” Sherlock asked with a smirk as he narrowly avoided John stepping on his foot.

“It’s getting better,” John smiled as he craned his neck for a soft kiss as the music changed to a Ray Charles song which John recognised.

The music was momentarily paused to allow Emma to blow out the candles on her expensive and sumptuous birthday cake before cutting it, smiling broadly as she listened to her guests applaud and cheer for her. The band struck up once more and Sherlock moved to his mother’s side, offering his hand to her as the pair began dancing flawlessly in the middle of the dancefloor.

The two men took a break to have a drink and some fresh air as the dancefloor had become busier with tipsy pensioners relieving their youth as Glenn Miller was played. Sherlock watched with a smile as his mother took the hand of one guest after another until finally stopping with Mycroft who spun her around the marque in perfect rhythm.

“Considering your mother has just turned seventy she’s doing rather well with all the dancing” John commented, following Sherlock’s lead through the throngs of guests.

“Shall we take a walk?” Sherlock asked, taking John’s hand in his own and walking out of the entryway to the marque and out into the darkness.

* * *

 

They walked away from the house until they were almost at the end of the large field which overlooked a babbling brook; John was astounded by the stars which flickered and tinkled above them brighter than he had ever seen before. Even in the deserts of Afghanistan the stars had never seemed so clear.”

“Sometimes,” Sherlock started before stilling and biting his lower lip.

“Sometimes?” John coaxed, his fingers stroking Sherlock’ skin.

“When I was… away,” the younger man continued, “I slept outside a lot. Either in homeless camps or alone in the woods and I would look up at the stars and wonder whether you were looking up at the same ones. We were thousands of miles away from one another but I often wondered if you looked up, perhaps you saw the same star I was looking at. Although it would be almost scientifically impossible it was a nice thought.”

John smiled softly and lowered his head to hide the tears which had begun to sparkle in his eyes. “I missed you so much, you dick.”

“I know,” Sherlock sighed. “There wasn’t a moment when I didn’t miss you.”

The two men shared a deep and intimate look; something burning and adoring before Sherlock spoke again, “I do, you know…” he mumbled; he wasn’t going to admit his feelings any further.

“Me too,” John nodded with a smile. “Completely.”

“Good. That’s good,” Sherlock nodded with a huge smile as he pressed a kiss to John’s lips.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A massive thank you to  
> [ Iriya]() who beta'd chapters 1-(midway) 12. 
> 
> The rest of this story will not be beta'd and I hope you won't be terribly put off by my dreadful punctuation! I know I'm shit at it.
> 
> Request by Griselda_Howl for some light exhibitionism and loving in a cupboard. Had to add it in especially for my darling <3 This bit of the chapter is practically just smut, but more storyline to follow!
> 
> Comment please!!

Sherlock and John returned to their bedroom, not caring if they were missed at the party, and locked the door behind them. Staring into each other’s eyes hungrily they moved to the middle of the room where Sherlock grasped John’s shoulders and pulled him in for a desperate kiss. John groaned as he tangled his fingers into Sherlock’s hair to pull his head down and tracing his tongue over the delightfully plush lips he gained entrance to his lover’s mouth. Tasting the exotic champagne and Sherlock’s own taste was a heady mixture for John who could feel his hardness already pressing against the fine fabric of his trousers; his dexterous surgeons fingers made quick work of Sherlock’s jacket, waistcoat and shirt, leaving the detective standing topless in the moonlight which flooded through the bay windows. Sherlock returned his kisses and began to strip John of his own suit. Nuzzling along John’s neck as he pulled open the crisp white shirt, he licked along John’s prominent collarbone and over to the bullet entry wound which he hadn’t been allowed to examine in as much detail as he had wanted. Tasting John’s skin and feeling the slightly marred flesh under his tongue was exhilarating. Sherlock smiled wide and ran his fingers beneath the fabric until he found the puckered skin of John’s nipples. John shrugged the fabric off his shoulders and fought the urge to immediately pick up the expensive material. Sherlock seemed to sense John’s thoughts and chuckled dryly to himself as he bent his head to lick and suck at the exposed nubs, using different pressure and friction to gauge John’s reaction to stimulus.

“Stop experimenting on me,” John tutted playfully, pulling Sherlock up for another kiss as they managed to shuffle closer to the bed. Both stepping out of their trousers leaving them clad only in underwear as John fell back against the mattress with his legs spread and Sherlock kneeling between John’s thighs.

Running his hands up and down John’s thighs softly Sherlock looked up. His eyes met John’s stormy blue eyes as he moved forward to press soft breathy kisses against the soft skin of John’s upper thighs. His nose rubbed against the crease of John’s hip and thigh as he kissed up and down the previously unexplored flesh, listening for every gasp and whisper which escaped John’s lips. John ran his fingers through Sherlock’s curls and smiled.

“I understand your need to take it slow,” Sherlock whispered as he nuzzled and breathed against John’s skin, “but I’d like to show you something, please.”

John nodded and allowed Sherlock to reposition them onto the bed; Sherlock confidently climbed in front of John and grabbed the bottle of lubricant he had hidden under the pillow before the party. John lifted an eyebrow at his detective’s foresight into their actions but stayed silent as he watched Sherlock pull off his underwear and poured a generous coating of lube onto his hands before slicking up his thighs. John’s mouth went unfeasibly dry as he watched the action of Sherlock’s surprisingly plush buttocks tensing with each movement as Sherlock occasionally brushed against his own testicles with his lubed fingers, a slight gasp escaping his lips with every touch.

John moved his hands to his own underwear and slipped them down his legs; taking his cock in his fist he stroked it roughly to take away the ache before removing his hands from his prick, the urge to rut against Sherlock’s skin almost too tempting to fight. The doctor watched Sherlock’s face in wonder as the detective closed his eyes and sighed, John had never seen him looking so beautiful and completely wanton as he did that moment and John needed to devour him completely.

“John” Sherlock whispered, resting his back against John’s front and pulling the older man’s arms into a comfortable position; one wrapped around Sherlock’s shoulders whilst the other hung loosely over his waist. Sherlock wiggled backwards until John’s cock was pushed up against his slick thighs, lifting his leg slightly he allowed John to push against his skin before clamping his legs together, trapping the twitching flesh and enveloping him in warm, wet heat.

“Christ” John growled deeply as his hand tightened around Sherlock’s sharp hipbone, his thumb rubbing against the protruding bone as he desperately fought to hold off his orgasm. Sherlock smiled and threaded his arm beneath John’s to rest on the doctor’s arse, coaxing his lover to move in broad and easy strokes which resulted in John’s cock caressing the inside of Sherlock’s thighs.

Sherlock hadn’t expected to feel so close to John during this simple experience; they had been naked together a lot and they had spent most nights curled up around one another but it suddenly felt more intimate and loving that it took Sherlock’s breath away and caused his heart to flutter wildly in his chest. Calming himself with deep breaths; Sherlock managed to pull himself together as he thrust his bum backwards, feeling the tip of John’s cock pressing against his balls softly with each movement. Sherlock groaned and entwined his spare hand into John’s hand which was wrapped around his shoulder, grounding him to the experience and allowing Sherlock to feel secure and surrounded by John Watson.

John continued to minutely thrust his hips; feeling the tightness wrapped around him in a crude parody of intercourse he growled low and pulled Sherlock in for a closer hug. John kissed and lathed Sherlock’s neck with breathy kisses as the two worked together to maintain a rhythm; Sherlock whined each time John’s prick slipped further into the cleft of his buttocks to press against his entrance whilst John’s tip stroked along his bollocks.

“Locke” John gasped, his head spinning with arousal and the desperate need to climax. Tightening his grip on Sherlock’s fingers he snapped his hips harder and faster whilst moving his other hand to wrap around Sherlock’s own leaking and neglected cock which bobbed uncomfortably with each movement and oozed clear precum onto the bedding beneath them. John licked and sucked at the back of Sherlock’s neck, sucking a purple bruise into the skin uncaring who noticed the mark or their reaction to it. He wanted to mark Sherlock as his own completely; John was surprised at the possessiveness which seemed to bubble from his core but brushed it aside as he focussed on chasing his orgasm.

Using his hand in the way Sherlock preferred, John teased Sherlock towards his release. Sherlock groaned and tightened his thigh muscles, milking John and causing the older man to gasp and swear under his breath as he continued to thrust harder and faster whilst his hand matched the rhythm on Sherlock’s cock.

“John,” Sherlock choked his back arching and his hips becoming stuttered and jerky as he reached the edge.

John wasn’t far behind and hummed his approval for Sherlock to cum, biting and sucking on Sherlock’s neck and sending the younger man wailing into his release. John felt the streams of warmth covering his fist before dripping onto the bedding. He gave a final shaky thrust and then he was coming with a deep growl into Sherlock’s ear as he coated the inside of the detective’s thighs with his essence.

The pair remained still for a long moment as they caught their breaths; John shuddered with oversensitivity as Sherlock clenched his thigh muscles and smiled at the escaped breathy moans from John’s lips as the doctor rested his head between Sherlock’s shoulder blades, his mind completely blank and unworried about the sheen of sweat which covered both of their bodies.

“Was that… acceptable?” Sherlock mumbled after a while, startling John out of his post-orgasmic daze.

“Hmm? Oh yeah, it was amazing,” John smiled as he rubbed his nose against the back of Sherlock’s neck, nosing the curls which smelt so perfectly of Sherlock.

“I know you’re anxious about it, but full intercourse would feel similar, only tighter and better,” Sherlock whispered as his fingers entwined themselves into John’s.

John stilled and rested his head against Sherlock’s shoulders.

“Locke, you’re being so patient with me and I appreciate it. I really do. But I just don’t feel like I’m ready for that yet,” John admitted. “It’s not you or anything about the act itself, I just… can’t yet.”

“I understand,” Sherlock nodded, stretching languidly as he began to feel exhaustion overtaking his transport. “Goodnight, John.”

“Night, Sherlock,” John smiled, kissing Sherlock’s neck and allowing sleep to claim him too.

* * *

 

Sherlock and John awoke dry-mouthed and thirsty due to the alcohol they had consumed the night before; although they hadn’t been intoxicated they had certainly had enough to warrant a slight hangover which lingered in the middle of their foreheads as they cringed against the light which flooded the room due to the open curtains.

“Bleurgh,” John grimaced as he attempted to swallow away the nasty texture in his mouth.

“Delightful,” Sherlock mumbled as he pulled the cover over his head and realised that neither man had cleaned up the semen on their bodies from last night. Sherlock’s upper thighs felt crispy and disgusting as he attempted to bend his knee, wincing when the dried seed pulled at his sparse leg hair.

The pair lay in bed, occasionally lifting their head to look out of the window before groaning and letting the duvet cover them once more. Hiding under the blankets made John feel like a child and he used his feet to wriggle between Sherlock’s calves as they spooned one another softly.

“Sherlock? John?” Mycroft’s voice penetrated the still air through the closed wooden bedroom door, startling both men slightly at the loud noise. “Breakfast is ready. Afterwards we’re taking Mummy into town”.

“We?” Sherlock asked, still keeping the blanket over his head.

“Gregory and I,” Mycroft replied. “So get dressed and come downstairs.”

They could hear Mycroft’s retreating steps from behind the door until it was quiet again.

“Christ, it’s like being ten again,” Sherlock grumbled as he pulled back the cover and shivered at the lack of warmth.

They took turns to shower, shave and brush their teeth before dressing in casual attire and walking to the large dining area where Emma Holmes sat sipping at her Orange juice and nibbling at toast. John could see the tell-tale signs of a hangover and decided to stay quiet as she greeted them with a kind smile. Sherlock and John helped themselves to the feast of breakfast foods which had been provided. Sherlock picked at the food until John glared warningly and watched with a slight smile when Sherlock began eating in earnest.

“Did you have a nice party, Emma?” John asked, looking up at his host.

“It was wonderful,” Mrs Holmes smiled with sparkling eyes. “Better than I imagined.”

“You disappeared early” Mycroft sniffed haughtily from his seat at the head of the table.

Sherlock glared at his brother and shrugged “We were tired.”

“I’m sure” Mycroft sneered before popping another grape into his mouth. Greg seemingly recognised the tense atmosphere and changed the subject immediately “We’re going into town, do you need anything?”

“No” Sherlock said gruffly, forcing another strip of bacon into his mouth whilst still angrily staring at his sibling.

“What Sherlock means to say, is no thank you Greg” John sighed and shook his head “I think we’ve got everything”

Greg nodded and smiled to his friend; sharing a knowing look as they finished their breakfast in comfortable silence.

* * *

 

John insisted on doing the washing up regardless of the Holmes family insistence that the staff would do it; John kindly smiled but insisted that he would do it to allow the staff a moments respite considering they had organised the birthday party the night before and were still cleaning up the mess left over. Sherlock had rolled his eyes fondly but didn’t argue when John began collecting the breakfast dishes and placing them on the kitchen counter.

“Last chance” Mycroft said as he helped bring in the used cutlery “Would you like anything from town?”

Sherlock and John both shook their heads and Mycroft took his leave, helping Emma into her coat and escorting her to the car which Gregory was driving. Sherlock and John waved them off before closing the door and returning to the kitchen where they got started on the dishes,

“Why did you offer?” Sherlock asked incredulous “We have people to do this”

John glared at Sherlock and stopped cleaning the mug he was holding “Because I have fully working arms and don’t see why other people should clean up my mess,” John mumbled “So grab a towel and help.”

Sherlock mumbled unhappily but helped John until the pots were all clean and put away leaving them bereft of something to do. Sherlock however seemed to have an idea and checked around, realising they were alone he quickly got to his knees on the kitchen floor, wincing at the cold penetrating his skin he unzipped John’s trousers and pulled out his flaccid cock.

“Seriously?” John gasped, looking around “you want to do that here?”

Sherlock shrugged and immediately clamped his mouth around John’s quickly hardening prick, swallowing him completely and using his clever tongue to lick around John’s foreskin. John groaned and grabbed the kitchen counter to steady himself as he felt the rush of blood leaving his top half to rush south; Sherlock steadied himself with his hands on John’s hips as his own arousal skyrocketed and he tasted the first drips of salty precum hitting his tongue. John sighed and let his head fall back as his fingers tangled into Sherlock’s perfect curls, stroking them back to ensure that he could watch Sherlock’s bow lips wrapped around his cock.

John valiantly tried to fight the urge to thrust his hips into Sherlock and facefuck him hard and frantic; his climax was slowly beginning to fizz from his spine as Sherlock moved a hand from John’s hip to cradle John’s bollocks carefully, rolling them in his palm and enjoying the soft groans which escaped his lovers lips.

They startled when they heard a car engine returning up the driveway; John glared down at Sherlock and pushed the detective away who quickly stood and grabbed John’s hand, pulling them into the large pantry cupboard. John felt ridiculous; his cock softening slightly outside of his trousers whilst bags of potatoes pushed against his calves and his front crushed against Sherlock’s own as they listened to somebody enter the house. Sherlock wrapped his long fingers around John’s prick, coaxing it back to full hardness and stroking it in a slow and steady rhythm which quickly had John burying his head in the space between Sherlock’s jawline and shoulder. The detective grinned as he ran his thumb over the oozing slit on John’s tip, smearing the precum around the head until John was thrusting his hips into the sensation, his breathing ragged and soft pants of _oh_ escaping his lips as Sherlock stroked him harder and faster. John could feel the building pleasure of his orgasm rising, he choked out a warning and closed his eyes as his climax overtook him. The doctor was vaguely aware of Sherlock holding his handkerchief against his tip to catch the spilling fluid but John’s mind was fragmented in pleasure as he grunted a final time, enjoying the afterglow of his orgasm as Sherlock coaxed the remaining drops onto his fabric square. John held Sherlock tightly and attempted to calm his breathing as he heard the sound of somebody approaching their hiding place.

Sherlock recognised the footsteps as Mycroft’s and grimaced at the idea of being caught in such an intimate scenario but thankfully his brother’s footsteps passed by the pantry door to stride across the kitchen and pick something up from the counter.

Sherlock and John held their breath as the footsteps lingered outside the pantry door and then Mycroft’s voice rumbled through the barrier,

“Mummy forgot her purse. Are you sure you don’t want anything?” Mycroft’s voice was teasing and full of mirth at finding the two men in such a ridiculous spot.

“Er… no… cheers Mycroft” John mumbled from behind the door; wilting slightly when Sherlock glared down at revealing that they were in fact hiding.

The men listened to Mycroft chuckling as he left and closed the door behind him allowing Sherlock and John to escape the confines of the pantry cupboard. John tucked his now completely flaccid cock away in his trousers and looked cautiously at Sherlock who was obviously upset,

“I’m sorry Locke” John whispered, entwining his fingers with Sherlock’s.

Sherlock shrugged and kissed John chastely,

“I think I might go for a nap” John smiled “I’m still feeling a little groggy from the champagne”

“Very well” Sherlock nodded “I’ll be in the study if you need me”

The two gave a final kiss before separating and going their own way; John returned to the bedroom they shared and closed the door firmly behind him. Walking to the desk, he grabbed his laptop bag and continued walking until he reached the bed; he settled himself down and opened up his computer. Logging in he updated the WIFI password to the Holmes Manor service and relaxed against the plush feather cushions as he skimmed through he emails, a few were regarding cases but nothing seemed urgent so he closed down the box and opened up his search engine.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first part of this chapter follows on from the previous one but I hadn't finished it in time to post.
> 
> Not beta'd. 
> 
> I have linked the song I imagine the boys playing, please listen to it!

John Watson had always been a leader; he had never shied away from action or hands on learning but he decided that he needed some theory based information before he and Sherlock took their relationship any further. They had been indulging in passionate hand jobs and cautious ( _and one sided)_ oral sex for a week but John had never offered to return the favour to Sherlock who was being uncharacteristically patient in letting John discover his new homosexual feelings for himself.

John looked at the blinking cursor in the search bar and exhaled shakily before typing in his first subject.

_Oral Sex techniques._

The doctor had never researched how to give a woman oral sex; his entire knowledge had come from hands on experience with various lovers who seemed to enjoy what he did. He remembered one woman ( _Kathy? Katie?)_ who was dominant and extremely forthcoming in her demands for how John should indulge in her pleasure, he had learned a lot from her but with Sherlock it was different. John didn’t want to just muddle through and learn as he went, he wanted to give Sherlock the best night of his life using only his mouth and tongue and for that, he needed advice but it wasn’t something he could ask his mates ( _except maybe Greg, but John really didn’t want to have Greg’s Holmes pleasing sex tips in his head.)_

John clicked through the various links and memorised some of the comments;

 _Take control -_ he could do that, Sherlock always responded well to his Captain voice and John remembered Sherlock’s reaction to him pulling rank at Baskerville.

 _Savour the moment –_ John smiled as he imagined dragging out Sherlock’s pleasure for hours; driving his lover mad with lust and desperation as he brought him to the edge over and over again.

 _Enjoy it –_ John worried over this aspect. What if he didn’t like it? What if he decided it wasn’t for him? Would Sherlock be offended or angry if he didn’t want to do it again?

Deciding he had done enough reading he quickly turned his page into incognito mode and typed in his favourite porn address; grabbing for his headphones he plugged them into the port and skimmed through the newest videos. Steeling himself, he clicked on the gay porn tab and took a deep breath as he looked at the various video’s which were available; John turned his head to the side at one thumbnail of one video, unable to recognise which part of the male anatomy he was looking at. ( _Even as a doctor, he was pretty sure that the human body wasn’t able to take that much of an arm inside it.)_

Focusing on the amateur section; John skimmed through the videos until he found something which he deemed suitable. Opening the video he watched as a young tanned male seductively licked and sucked at his partner’s considerable sized cock, gagging and retching slightly when the other man pushed his head down. John swallowed anxiously and bit his lower lip, he knew women didn’t like to be forced further down onto their partners cock but maybe gay men did? Clicking off the video he opened the next one and was stunned at the production value, it was obviously filmed in HD and the couple seemed to actually know and trust one another as they engaged in a slow and sensual blowjob. The red headed guy receiving had his fingers entwined with his partners whilst the other clutched the bed tightly; the blonde man giving head was frantically sucking and licking at the exposed tip.

John could see the precum flowing onto the blonde man’s tongue as he swallowed it down but maintained eye contact, John almost felt like a voyeur in a private and personal encounter despite it being online for the world to see. He focussed on the technique the blonde man was using, one hand wrapping around the base of his partners cock whilst his lips and tongue caressed the hard flesh. John wondered if he could mimic the act with his fingers but blushed at the thought of being caught. His British sexual repression immediately stopping all thoughts of practicing,

The sounds of orgasm reached his ears, causing him to look back at the screen in time to watch the redhead arch his back and groan loudly as the blonde man inserted a finger inside him. John could tell from the twisting of the blonde’s finger that he had found his lovers prostate and was stimulating it, causing the other man to go wild with the desperate need to climax. John pushed the heel of his hand into his thickening groin and forced himself to watch as the blonde bobbed his head up and down, his lips never going further than a few inches but his lover didn’t seem to mind as he wailed and bucked into his partner’s mouth.

John inhaled a shaky breath as the man on screen bucked a final time before shouting out a warning to his lover; the blonde man didn’t pull away, instead he opened his mouth wider and allowed the stringy ribbons of cum to land on his tongue and lips before swallowing it down with a cheeky grin. The other man chuckled lightly and fell back to the bed as the blonde climbed over to share a deep and passionate kiss, spreading the musky goodness between one anothers lips.

John closed down the browser and snapped shut the laptop before lying on his back with his arm under his neck. He wasn’t sure whether he was ready to consider anal sex with Sherlock, but he definitely wanted to pleasure him orally.

* * *

 

Sherlock wandered aimlessly around the corridors of the Holmes manor; he updated his mind palace to include the new patches of sun bleached wallpaper and slight tears in the seams from years of wear. Running his hand along the wall as he tilted his head as he heard the familiar tinkle of the piano coming from the room which had once been his father’s study but was now Emma’s storage space where she kept her boxes of books, various musical instruments and pieces of artwork she no longer hung on the walls. Sherlock rounded the corner and poked his head in, watching silently as Mycroft sat straight backed on the stool, his long, flexible fingers working the piano keys perfectly despite years of neglect.

“I didn’t know you still played” Sherlock commented as he walked into the room and draped himself over the wingback chair which was once his father’s favourite.

“I often don’t have time” Mycroft replied without looking up “Unfortunately I have a younger sibling who insists on rushing around the globe causing _incidents_ which require my attention”

Sherlock scoffed and rolled his eyes “I save London from terrorist atrocities yet still manage to fit in my violin”

“Hmm” Mycroft grumbled as he continued to play. His memory automatically rewinding back to their childhood when the siblings would spend long afternoons together in this very room; Mycroft had begun to learn the piano at six and by twelve was an accomplished and skilled musician. Not to be outdone, Sherlock had insisted on taking up an instrument and had immediately taken a shine to the violin. The Holmes family had endured endless months of screeching sounds and ear splitting noises until Sherlock finally mastered his instrument; taming it into making the soft and gentle sounds which Mummy had loved so much.

When Sherlock was twelve and Mycroft was nineteen they had put on a small concert in the gardens for their parents, grandparents and a few specially chosen family friends who all sat on wooden chairs watching happily as the two siblings, already looking so different, played perfectly in tune with one another.

Sherlock’s long and lean body was already going through his first growth spurt leaving him looking slightly gangly beside a more robust and firm Mycroft. The older Holmes’ red hair had already started to thin at nineteen causing him to become self-conscious; especially standing beside his naturally curly haired brother who’s perfectly coiffed curls blew in the wind with every twitch of his head.

Mycroft shook the thoughts away from his mind and focussed on the piece he was playing; not realising that his brother had joined him on the padded stool. Mycroft jumped slightly and sneered at his own foolishness before turning his head and lifting up an eyebrow.

Sherlock’s fingers took up their position on the major end of the piano, he pressed the first keys and Mycroft recognised the tune as one they had composed together a long time ago, before Mycroft had left for London to begin his work for the government. The older man joined his brother in the tune without missing a beat, enjoying the momentary closeness which resulted from them playing together once more.

The tempo increased and Mycroft smiled as Sherlock missed a note; the detective glared angrily at his brother and then down at his own fingers as he continued to play. There was silence in the room as the siblings allowed the music to flow from them, speaking words and memories they would never discuss.

Sherlock looked over at his brother softly; his defensive barriers lowered as he met Mycroft’s eyes and allowed a lingering look which said _thank you for rescuing me._

Mycroft nodded his head and focussed on his keys before lifting his own gaze to Sherlock and answering with a _you’re welcome._

The men were coming to the end of the song; Mycroft removed his hands from the keys and let it fall into his lap. Sherlock frowned and grumbled under his breath before starting once more,

“What are you doing?” Mycroft asked casually,

“I missed a note. We need to do it again” Sherlock added, beginning the tune from the top and hiding a smile when Mycroft joined in at the correct moment.

* * *

 

“I thought I heard you boys” Emma clucked as she entered the room and looked down at her two sons who seemed to be getting along swimmingly. She took a seat and smiled “play that song I used to enjoy so much.”

Mycroft and Sherlock shared a look before nodding; Sherlock walked to the violin which his mother had purchased for him as a gift many years before when he still lived at the manor. It was scratchy and uncared for but still sounded good enough for an intimate recital especially for their mother. Sherlock held the instrument to his shoulder and picked at each string to ensure they were tuned correctly as Emma made herself comfortable; Mycroft cracked his fingers and looked to Sherlock who nodded that he was ready.

The pair [played](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5RSGmcHJDZo) in perfect synchronicity as Emma tapped her foot; Sherlock twisted his body and allowed his hair to fall over his face as he became lost in the musical notes which he and his brother had written especially for their mother as a gift. Mycroft felt the same way as his fingers skimmed the keys, his eyes widened as he watched Greg and John enter the room, obviously curious as to where the music was coming from. The two men watched from the doorway as the Holmes brother’s played together with Sherlock seemingly unaware of the audience; it was only when they had finished the song with a flourish that the detective was aware of three applauding people.

“Oh” Sherlock jumped slightly “I didn’t hear you come in”

“That was lovely” John smiled “Did you write it?”

“A long, long time ago” Mycroft gestured as he closed the lid on the piano and moved to stand.

“They wrote it for my birthday” Emma gushed “Sherlock was only thirteen and he and Mycroft created an entire song for me”

“John has experience of my composing” Sherlock mumbled as he put away the violin and closed the case “I wrote the dance for his wedding”

There was an uncomfortable silence in the room as Sherlock blinked confused “A bit not good?”

“Little bit” John smiled weakly “doesn’t matter”

John was about to turn from the room and leave to make tea when he noticed a small framed photograph lying on the bureau. He picked it up and looked closely at the young children in the picture “is this you?”

Sherlock blanched and moved to take the frame from John who quickly moved it to his other hand to create a larger space between them; Sherlock eventually gave up attempting to fight and began to sulk whilst sitting on the arm of his mother’s chair.

The picture was obviously Mycroft and Sherlock; Mycroft stood sullenly looking at the picture clad in his Sunday best, the boy looked no older than seven or eight but was dressed in a full tweed suit with his hair perfectly combed to one side. In his arms he held a small bundle of infant Sherlock; the baby was scowling at the camera, his lips pulled into a pouting frown whilst the almost colourless eyes seemed to stare directly into the camera lens. The young Sherlock was wrapped in a blanket and was being held tightly by his older brother.

“Weren’t they delightful?” Emma gushed, standing up and almost knocking Sherlock from his perch in her haste to stand beside John “Sherlock never liked getting his photograph taken”

“He still doesn’t” John smiled softly, attempting to reassure Sherlock with his eyes “We practically have to bully him after a case”

Greg chuckled beside John and took the photo from John’s hands. The DI looked over the picture and grinned at Mycroft “aww, look at you protecting your little brother”

“Hmm, Mummy insisted” Mycroft complained, “I vaguely remember a threat of no dessert for a week if I didn’t comply”

“I have a box of photo’s somewhere if you would like to see?” Emma asked, taking John’s hand and steering him towards the large leather sofa which was towards the back of the room.

John met Sherlock’s eyes and saw the detective shrug in defeat; John nodded to Emma who squeaked with excitement and rushed off to fetch her photo albums.

* * *

 

“If you laugh, I’m not going to help on cases” Sherlock warned Lestrade with a frown “I’m serious.”

“No you’re not” Greg replied,

“Well…I could be” Sherlock muttered, crossing his arms childishly and glaring out of the window.

Mycroft had exited the room to make tea and brought the apparatus through on a tray, slowly pouring each drink into cups and adding sugar to ensure they were perfect to each person’s unique specifications. John took his cup and thanked Mycroft as he heard Emma return,

“I knew I had them around somewhere” Emma grinned as she opened the box and coughed at the dust which covered her hands “Eukk”

Sherlock grimaced as he recognised the album marked with his full name and date of birth. Emma squeezed herself between John and Greg on the sofa and opened the book, showing a large picture of her lying in a hospital bed with a tiny, red bundle against her chest and a huge smile on her lips.

“He was a surprise” Emma smiled “We hadn’t expected to have another one after Mycie”

“Why would you” Sherlock snarked from his perch on the arm of the chair.

“But you know how it is” Emma flushed “We attended one of her majesties garden parties and one thing lead to another and before you knew it…”

Sherlock and Mycroft both groaned and rolled their eyes at the thought of their parents having sex ( _although both realised it was a necessity and a natural act. Neither wanted to think about Sherlock’s conception)._ Emma turned the page and ran her finger over the picture of a tiny Mycroft sitting cautiously on a high backed hospital chair whilst holding the squalling baby. Greg chuckled at the look of absolute terror written on the small boy’s face as he obviously held a new born for the first time. The picture underneath was of Emma, Mycroft, Sherlock and a gentleman who John didn’t recognise; realising that it was probably Mr Holmes he waited for Emma to confirm his suspicions.

“That’s Gerald. Their father” Emma said sadly before promptly turning the page to show Sherlock sitting in the kitchen sink surrounded by bubbles and a small tin boat.

John smirked and looked up at Sherlock who was adamantly looking anywhere else but the photo album as Mrs Holmes cooed over the adorable picture.

“I’m sure John isn’t interested in seeing these pictures” Sherlock insisted tartly.

“Oh I am” John nodded to Emma to continue “It’s nice to see you as a child. It makes you seem more human,”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and retired into his mind palace to attempt to burn the memories of the photographs from his mind.

* * *

 

That evening; after dinner had been served the family and partners settled down in the main sitting room with a tumbler of Brandy. Sherlock and Mycroft sat at the chess board, neither speaking but playing the game competitively whilst ignoring the others in the room. Greg had gone to bed early with a headache leaving John and Emma sitting together on the large sofa, listening to the sounds of nature from outside and the roar of the fire from the hearth.

“I’m not an idiot you know” Emma whispered, looking up at her sons and then back to John “I know about you and Sherlock”

John cleared his throat and attempted to think of a convincing lie but found his brain blank as Emma took a sip of his drink and turned back to the doctor “I know that you weren’t dating before a week ago. Mycroft likes to think he’s very clever and manipulative but he can’t hide anything from his mother” she smiled.

John returned the smile but stayed silent as Emma continued “Sherlock has always been…different” she said softly as she looked over at the detective who was scowling at the obviously tricky move which Mycroft had made on the chess board “As a child he was a loner, he didn’t associate with other children his own age regardless of how many opportunities he was given. I remember we organised a party for his sixth birthday; there was a bouncy castle” Emma sighed wistfully “we had given him invitations to hand out to his friends at school but when the day came, nobody arrived”

“That’s horrible” John whispered.

“He hadn’t invited anybody. We found the invitations hidden under his mattress days later” Emma replied “he spent the entire day bouncing alone on the bouncy castle with Redbeard”

“What about him and Mycroft?” John probed.

Emma took another sip of her drink before running her hand through her hair in a trademark Holmes gesture “The age gap between them was difficult; Mycroft being so clever was also an issue. When Sherlock was born, Mycroft was already accomplished at so many things so having to share our attention as well as deal with an infant was hard for him. They care for each other in their own way” Emma nodded “I’m sure of it”

“How did you know about me and Sherlock then? If Mycroft didn’t tell you?” John asked nervously,

“I observed” Emma laughed “where do you think the boys got their deduction skills from? They think I’m an old boot now and that I’ve lost my sharpness but I haven’t. I can still read them regardless”

John stayed silent and took a drink of his Brandy, feeling the warmth spreading down his throat and into his stomach.

“When Sherlock went away, Mycroft warned us of the media circus which was about to begin. We practically shut ourselves away from the public but Sherlock’s letters always managed to get through to us. In each letter he asked about you” Emma spoke softly, “I thought it was more than just a friendship or flatmate relationship but Mycroft insisted otherwise until Sherlock returned. Whenever I asked about you two, he wouldn’t confirm or deny anything which made me suspicious”

“I see” John nodded,

“And then one day, I travelled to London to see a show with Mycroft and we stopped in at Baker Street. You weren’t there and when I asked Sherlock I saw the disappointment and the longing in his eyes before he clamped it down. I knew then that nothing was going on” Emma sighed “however now, I see something different which makes me believe that this isn’t make believe or a trick. Whatever it is between you and my darling Lockie, it’s true”

John could feel the first bubbles of emotion building in his stomach but forced it away as he took another drink, realising his glass was empty he fiddled with it to ensure he had something to focus on.

“Forgive me, I’ve made you uncomfortable” Emma blushed “My big mouth”

“No its fine, it’s… all fine” John huffed a laugh “I just didn’t expect it.”

* * *

 

The group said goodnight and returned to their own bedrooms; John checked in with Greg to ensure that he was feeling okay and after suggesting water and painkillers the doctor walked back to the room he was sharing with Sherlock. The detective was already stripped down to his pants and lying beneath the duvet with one arm under his head and the other absently stroking his stomach as he watched John enter the room and begin to strip for bed.

“How’s Lestrade?” Sherlock asked genuinely from his comfortable position.

“He seems okay. Apparently he gets migraines often so he knows the drill” John shrugged as he pulled back the covers and climbed in beside his lover.

John pulled Sherlock to rest on his chest; the detective’s ear directly over John’s heart as the older man wrapped his arms tightly around Sherlock’s shoulder and waist.

“Why are you crushing me?” Sherlock asked, his breath rushing over John’s chest hair.

“I’m not” John smiled “I’m cuddling you”

“Why are you cuddling me?” Sherlock grumbled “I can hardly breathe. Are you attempting to murder me at my mother’s home?”

“Oh it’s tempting” John joked before pressing a kiss to the top of Sherlock’s head “but I’d be lost without you”

“Are you going soppy on me Dr Watson?” Sherlock smiled coyly “Is this where I start quoting poetry and comparing you to a summers day?”

“Git” John mumbled as he shuffled further down the pillow to get comfortable.

Sherlock stilled for a moment; hearing John’s breathing become more even before he spoke again, waking John from his momentary snooze “I do though, I agree with what you said”

“You agree you’re a git?” John grinned “I’m glad you feel the same way”

“John” Sherlock grumbled “You know what I mean”

“I know” John nodded “Get some sleep”

“I wish we were back at Baker Street” Sherlock admitted sadly, “It’s too quiet here. I miss the beating heart, the sounds of life outside the window”

“I like it” John smiled “I could imagine retiring somewhere like this”

“A manor house?” Sherlock asked confused,

“No, just a little cottage somewhere in the country. I could open a practice and you could work from home consulting. We could get rocking chairs and tartan blankets to put over our knees” John grinned and tightened his grip around Sherlock who was looking up reverently at his lover.

“Could we have dogs?” Sherlock replied quizzically,

“Of course” John nodded “and horses, maybe even cows for our own milk and chickens for eggs”

“And bees for honey” Sherlock added quickly “I like bees”

“Do you?” John mumbled, “Why?”

“They’re interesting and useful” Sherlock shrugged.

John smiled and nuzzled his nose against Sherlock’s neck as he began to kiss and lick down the long, slender neck; wet, wonderfully sloppy kisses against the overheated skin of his lover. Sherlock furrowed his eyebrows but allowed John to explore with his tongue, lapping at the detective’s sensitive skin as he moved down towards his nipples. Sherlock gripped the bedding tightly as John swept his tongue around his areola, feeling it tighten and pucker in the slightly colder air of the bedroom as John pulled away the duvet to expose more of Sherlock’s pale flesh.

“Keep talking” John insisted as he nibbled on Sherlock’s nipple “tell me more about what we’ll have”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes but nodded and began to talk “We…We’d have bees and id collect the honey”

“Hmm” John mumbled, letting Sherlock feel the vibration through his skin as he kissed over the pale silvery scar of Sherlock’s bullet wound, his hands rubbing over Sherlock’s toned stomach until he reached the detective’s underwear. John pushed his thumbs into the waistband and slowly tugged them off, thanking Sherlock with a smile when the younger man lifted his arse from the bed to help.

John kissed a spot just above Sherlock’s hipbone and watched the detective jerk as though he had electricity rushing through his veins. John lifted his head from the bed and quirked an eyebrow, Sherlock could only mumble “sensitive” before John was re-licking the spot, tasting every inch of Sherlock’s normally hidden skin.

“What else would we have?” John asked, distracting Sherlock from the nervous energy between them.

“A-And we’d have horses” Sherlock continued, unsure of what was happening between them but enjoying the sensations.

“How many?” John added, listening to Sherlock’s voice was helping him relax into the knowledge that he was about to give a man oral sex for the first time.

“Three… four… I don’t know” Sherlock admitted breathlessly “John, my mind isn’t working correctly”

John entwined their fingers for a brief moment and smiled coyly “good, that’s what I want”

John began to leave messy kisses along Sherlock’s lower stomach, feeling the detective’s hardness pressing against his chin and creating a slick mark. John looked up and chuckled softly at Sherlock’s wide eyed stare.

“John… I’ve never… I mean… It never…” Sherlock stumbled.

“Then it’ll be a first time for us both” John soothed softly as he took a deep breath and lowered his head over the tip of Sherlock’s cock.

The noise which escaped Sherlock was unlike anything John had ever heard, a startled whine mixed with a cough echoed around the room and caused John to look up with an upturned, nervous eyebrow. Sherlock’s eyes were closed tightly and his head was thrown back on the pillow as he desperately attempted to hold onto his orgasm. John returned to the job in hand ( _as it were)_ and used his tongue to trace around the glans of Sherlock’s cock head; he tasted the dribbles of precum and groaned at the slightly salty taste but swallowed it down knowing that a piece of Sherlock was now deep inside him.

Wrapping his hand around the shaft, John stroked up and down whilst coaxing more fluid from the tip with his pointed tongue. He followed the motions he had learnt from his researching, dipping his tongue into the slit before lapping at the frenulum to keep Sherlock guessing as to what was coming next. Sherlock however, seemed to be in his own world as he keened and moaned, his fingers buried deep in the bedding.

John moved his second hand to stroke along the cheeks of Sherlock’s arse, hardly breeching the cleft, he ran his fingers up and down the skin and smiled with every startled exhale which escaped Sherlock’s lips “My god you’re so sensitive and responsive.”

“John” Sherlock whimpered, a soft and desperate cry pleading to John for mercy.

John combined his mouth hand and fingers to drive Sherlock completely wild; the older man sucked in his cheeks to give perfect suction whilst twisting the hand around Sherlock’s shaft and stroking the other hand up and over Sherlock’s entrance, causing Sherlock to cry out at the slight brush and stiffen. He quickly reached down to John with a cry of “ _coming”_ and pulled the doctor away just in time before he was coming with a deep and gravelly grunt.

“That’s it” John cooed “Yeah, god Sherlock”

“John” Sherlock chanted, his eyes still closed as John stroked his shaft up and down carefully, pulling the last drops from Sherlock’s prick but in the gentlest way to ensure he wasn’t hurting Sherlock’s oversensitive cock.

“John” Sherlock moaned again, his hands grabbing for John to pull him up for a lingering kiss regardless of the mess between them. John felt the wet patch of Sherlock’s cum soak onto his stomach but didn’t care as he wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s neck and kissed him passionately.

The doctor was surprised at the tenderness which Sherlock was showing; despite their shaky and cautious touches, Sherlock seemed to enjoy kissing most and ran his fingers through John’s short blonde strands as John ground himself against Sherlock’s body. The younger man carefully nipped at John’s lower lip and ran his tongue along the kiss swollen skin as he wrapped his arms around John’s shoulders to pull him down further.

John could feel his own prick leaking into his underwear but he didn’t flinch away from Sherlock’s tight hold, writhing against Sherlock’s sated cock he could feel his own climax approaching embarrassingly quickly; Sherlock grabbed the back of John’s head and crushed their lips together as he wrapped his long and strong legs around John’s waist, pushing them together and grinding his hips until John was crying out in his mouth with the surprising intensity of his orgasm just from the sensations of his cock rubbing against Sherlock’s through the thin material of his pants.

The pair stayed together for long moments in silence; enjoying the closeness which came with the golden afterglow of orgasms. John wiggled himself from Sherlock’s limpet like hold and quickly rushed to the bathroom to wet a towel with warm water before returning to Sherlock’s side and wiping away their combined essence. John stripped his underwear and scraped the majority of his load onto the towel before taking out a fresh pair and pulling them on and climbing into the bed beside his lover.

“Was that… okay?” John asked cautiously,

“Wonderful” Sherlock mumbled already half asleep due to the happy hormones which flooded his brain.

John smiled and placed a soft kiss on Sherlock’s forehead before turning off the bedside lamp and snuggling down beneath the covers.

“Did you mean it about us retiring together?” Sherlock whispered into the darkness of their room.

“Of course” John nodded,

“Good, that’s good” Sherlock mumbled before nuzzling his nose into John’s neck “Night then”

“Goodnight love” John whispered with a smile as he stroked Sherlock’s hair until the pair fell asleep.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes what happened to Sherlock's father. The illness is real and is historically accurate as the diagnosis which George III had and I thought it would be a perfect way to introduce the Holmes royal lineage. 
> 
> Not beta'd.
> 
> Strange thing happened yesterday; I went to a wedding of my fiancé's friend where I met someone who works for the Homicide and Serious Crime department of NSY. Then we started dancing and 'Oh what a night' came on... I'm now so obsessed with Sherlock that it's bleeding into my life!

Sherlock awoke in a fantastic mood; his mind was clear and his body felt full of energy as he looked down at his beloved blogger still sleeping in the large four poster bed. Sherlock smiled down at the back of John’s head and wondered whether John would complain if Sherlock cut off a lock of his hair. Deciding against it, Sherlock stood up and stretched before rummaging through their unpacked suitcase which held their underwear and non-important clothing. He grabbed his tracksuit pants and a t-shirt and headed into the bathroom to dress; once he had showered, shaved and dressed he quickly grabbed his trainers and left the bedroom.

He headed down the hallway past Mrs Holmes bedroom and the room Mycroft and Lestrade were sharing; thankful for the peace and quiet Sherlock rushed by and stilled in the lobby where he tied his trainers and stretched his leg muscles before leaving the house in a jog.

Sherlock had always enjoyed running; he did it as part of his profession but he was also accomplished at long distance running from his school days when he would spend hours doing laps of the school field in endurance races with his own best time. He would put in his headphones and listen to his music or a language tape; he had once learnt to speak Japanese fluently whilst running the track.

His mind cleared when he ran; he wasn’t plagued with fears or constant deductions when his body was working towards the goal of finishing the race. Sherlock turned from the main driveway through to the stables and gardens, running beside the babbling brook which shimmered in the early morning daylight.

* * *

 

John awoke to an empty bed; knowing Sherlock didn’t enjoy wasting his mornings asleep John wasn’t concerned and focussed his energy on getting ready for the day ahead. They only had two more full days with the kindly Mrs Holmes before they had to return to London and John wanted to ensure that Emma had an enjoyable week with her sons who had been on their best behaviour so far. Showering quickly, John dressed in smart corduroy trousers and a summer shirt before walking downstairs to meet the rest of the family in the dining area where they were eating breakfast.

“Is Sherlock not with you?” Emma asked concerned,

“No” John frowned “He must have got up early”

“He’s running” Mycroft sniffed as he poured a second cup of tea “I saw him earlier. He was out by the tennis court”

“Ah” Emma visibly relaxed and nibbled at her French toast.

“Are my ears burning?” A deep voice from the doorway asked as a sweaty Sherlock entered the room with bright red cheeks and an almost transparent white shirt.

“Just wondered where you got to” John smiled, devotion evident in his face for anyone to see.

“Went for a run, was feeling rather energetic this morning” Sherlock smiled seductively before turning his attention to his mother “Good morning Mummy”

“Morning Lockie” Emma smiled,

“Lestrade, would you like to partake in a tennis match? I’ll wager you can’t win” Sherlock grinned.

“Oh yeh?” Lestrade smirked “and what do I win?”

“What do you want?” Sherlock shrugged confidently.

“You solve three of my cold cases, regardless of where they fit on your boredom scale” Lestrade offered.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes “One”

“Three” Greg shrugged “Or I don’t play”

“Fine” Sherlock huffed as though he was annoyed “but don’t come crying to me when I beat you”

“What do you want if you win?” Greg asked,

Sherlock thought for a moment before his eyes lit up “I want you to fire Anderson”

“Sherlock” Mycroft warned,

“He’s an imbecile!” Sherlock insisted.

“No. I’m not going to sack Anderson” Lestrade shook his head “think of something else,”

“You’re not allowed to shout at me next time I deduce something terribly embarrassing about him or Sally” Sherlock added, “I’m allowed one really cruel dig.”

Lestrade shared a look with both Mycroft and John before shrugging “deal”

“I’ll go get the equipment” Sherlock smirked before rushing off, giving Emma and John a sloppy kiss on the cheek as he passed by.

* * *

 

As the weather was particularly sunny and warm; Emma, John and Mycroft seated themselves on the fold away chairs beside the tennis court fencing. Close enough that they could see but not be in danger of coming into contact with a speeding tennis ball.

John had thanked one of the staff who had brought out a pitcher of homemade Lemonade and settled down in his sun lounger with his shirt sleeves rolled up and his sunglasses resting on his nose. Mycroft had fallen asleep under the shade of the large tree and was snoring softly whilst Emma stared off into space.

“Emma?” John whispered, turning to face her.

“Yes John?” Emma answered with a smile.

“Can I ask about Gerald?” John probed carefully. He had been intrigued by Sherlock’s father for a while but nobody had given him information on what happened to the senior Holmes.

Emma stilled, surprised but comfortable in discussing it with the man her son was obviously smitten with “Of course, what do you want to know?”

“Sherlock mentioned he died” John continued softly, “But… I don’t want to pry but what happened?”

Emma looked at John and then allowed her eyes to flicker over a snoozing Mycroft and then further to Sherlock who was chuckling happily at having won a point from Lestrade who looked at his racquet furiously. She returned her eyes to John and inhaled deeply,

“Gerald was… He was a good man. He worked hard, loved his children and loved me” Emma smiled sadly “He had had issues in the past, mental health ones mainly. A tragic family illness which has been passed down his family line as far back as George III”

“What… What illness?” John asked, vaguely remembering his English History and the stories of the _mad King George_

“It’s called Porphyria” Emma explained “Gerald had stomach troubles when we first met but it was cited as a digestive issue and he was told to cease eating certain foods but it worsened”

“It’s rare” John interrupted “I’ve only read about it”

“Gerald started seeing things, his urine turned purple and he was convinced that the Queen had a vendetta against him and she wanted to see him dead”

“But…” John added,

“I know. We went to her garden parties” Emma smiled “He wasn’t always like that. He had clear days but sometimes it was dreadful. I would come home and find him smashing the house up or frightening off the servants by walking around nude”

“What did you do?” John asked, taking a sip of his Lemonade purely as something to fill the awkward need to fiddle.

“He was sent away to hospital and sectioned where they discovered the Porphyria. As it was genetic I had the children tested immediately” Emma continued,

“And?...” John’s heart was pounding. Sherlock couldn’t be ill, not now they were finally together.

“They’re both clear. No risks” Emma nodded “but Gerald wouldn’t accept it. He blamed himself and said that he had infected his children and the Queen was holding information back”

John frowned and shook his head sadly,

“When Mycroft finished University and moved away to London for his position in the government, Gerald had a relapse of his symptoms and was adamant that Mycroft was working against him. He insisted that Mycroft was working as a spy for the Queen and poisoning him”

“God” John mumbled,

“I had to leave around that time for a family emergency; my mother was recovering from a hip operation in Paris and I was needed to care for her. I left Sherlock with strict instructions to contact Mycroft if he needed anything whilst I was away” Emma exhaled, her eyes filling with tears.

John realised that something bad was about to happen as Emma picked at her nails and looked over at her youngest child who was still playing Tennis.

“I got a call three days later” Emma whispered, “Gerald had shot himself in the Orchard”

“And Sherlock?” John asked,

“Found him.” Emma nodded sadly “Apparently he sat for a full afternoon with his father’s corpse until the gardener found him and immediately rushed to contact Mycroft”

“How old was he?” John probed,

“He’d just turned fifteen” Emma added, “He was voluntarily mute for three months. He wouldn’t speak to me at all. He would only speak with Mycroft”

“Why?” John asked in confusion.

“He felt he had let me down. He was supposed to care for his father and he was distracted by his experiments. After his father’s death he began to be angry and cruel, his words barbed and perfectly tailored to make the recipient feel as terrible as possible.” Emma sighed “Mycroft tried to help, he would come home and they would attempt to talk or play their instruments together but Sherlock was cold and uncaring. When he left for university a few years later he met a boy named Victor who introduced him to the drugs and the rest you know.”

“I can’t believe he didn’t tell me” John whispered sadly,

“He’s deleted It.” came a deep voice from beneath the tree’s shade “My father’s death, Victor’s name, and the years between them… he deleted them all”

Emma and John startled at Mycroft’s voice and looked over to where the man was still lying with his eyes closed “He doesn’t want to remember the pain so he deleted it.”

“That’s not healthy” John insisted, “He can’t just ignore it”

“He can and should” Mycroft insisted angrily “Sherlock’s brain is wonderful and perfectly maintained. If he was to remember those horrific memories, it could break him once more into drug use or worse.”

John thought back to the conversation that he and Sherlock had had regarding Sherlock’s sexual and romantic history. Sherlock had insisted that Mycroft was overbearing and protective due to the drugs but now, John felt he knew the main reason. Mycroft was protecting his baby brother from ever feeling alone and scared ever again.

“It’s a fix!” Sherlock’s voice shouted from across the tennis court “Lestrade, you didn’t tell me you had taken lessons!”

“Not my problem” Lestrade grinned and winked at John happily “You didn’t ask or deduce it so it’s allowed”

“You tricked me” Sherlock insisted angrily “I demand a rematch”

“Nope sorry Sherlock. Won fair and square” Lestrade smiled as he wiped the sweat from his brow and joined John, Emma and Mycroft for a drink of cool Lemonade “I’ll send the files over when we get back”

Sherlock glared furiously but dropped to his own seat with a scowl and a pout which caused John to giggle and kiss his puckered pet lip.

“Have you been informing my partner of my childhood habits?” Sherlock complained childishly,

“Not at all” John smiled and entwined his fingers with Sherlock’s. “You’re delightful mother was telling me about her own life. Not everything is about you” The doctor smiled and stuck out his tongue.

“Hmm” Sherlock grumbled and watched as Greg walked to sit beside his lover. Greg pressed a soft and tender kiss onto Mycroft’s forehead and stroked his fingers through the slightly damp curled hair which fell forward. Sherlock blushed at seeing the intimate gesture between his brother and Lestrade;

The detective hadn’t been sure about the relationship between his brother and the DI; at first, it seemed that the pair would be too busy to make it work especially with Mycroft working odd hours and Lestrade being called in at all hours of the day and night but surprisingly the two had compromised and ensured that they kept in contact through the day. Not that Sherlock knew much about their relationship but after he had returned from his exile, he had watched Lestrade at crime scenes and noticed whenever his phone beeped the DI would flush and smile down at the tiny screen of his mobile. Sherlock read Lestrade’s body language and facial expressions and realised with some trepidation that the officer was completely and unequivocally besotted with the older Holmes.

Mycroft never spoke about their relationship but whenever Sherlock visited Mycroft’s home, he could tell that Lestrade was slowly introducing himself into the once bare house. The detective had noticed a lingering aroma of Greg’s aftershave in the bathrooms and passing by Mycroft’s master bedroom. Mycroft’s fridge and cupboards once filled with health conscious foods containing almost no calories were now stocked with revolting Lager and frozen ready-meals for when Lestrade returned starving from work and was unable or unwilling to cook or phone for delivery.

Sherlock had to admit; Mycroft looked healthier and happier than he had seen him in decades. There was a sparkle back in his brother’s eyes that had been dimmed by the passing of their father. Lestrade had been good for Mycroft, forcing him to relate to somebody outside of the Holmes clan and learn to care for another person ( _other than Sherlock)_ in a completely sentimental and loving way.

“Hey” John clicked his fingers in front of Sherlock’s eyes, bringing him out of his mind palace with a start. “Where were you?”

Sherlock blinked and pressed a kiss to John’s knuckle before shaking his head “Sorry, I’m here.”

“We should get inside” Emma suggested looking up at the stormy looking clouds which were blowing in their direction.

The group packed up their belongings and returned to the house just in time before a pattering of rain began to pelt the windows, growing stronger in strength and volume. Emma asked one of the staff to bring fresh tea into the parlour where they sat together, listening to the rain and chatting casually between themselves.

“How should we pass the time?” Emma sighed “I expected the weather to be better”

“Cluedo?” Sherlock asked hopefully, looking at Mycroft, John and finally Greg.

“I’ll play for the same wager as before. Three cases if I win” Greg smiled,

Sherlock shrugged and moved to grab the game from its resting spot on one of the shelves in the study before returning and setting up on a low table. John and Emma joined them whilst Mycroft waved his hand in a dismissive gesture; Sherlock scowled but continued putting everything together whilst John emphasised the rules of the game.

“I know John” Sherlock scoffed “I’m not an idiot”

“You insisted the victim was the murderer last time” he laughed,

“It was the only possible outcome!” Sherlock insisted angrily.

The game was over quickly as Greg used his detective talents to win the game much to the anger of Sherlock who insisted once more that Lestrade was a cheat. John and Emma shared an exasperated look as Sherlock began to sulk on the chair, his legs thrown out and his arms crossed over his chest.

“Come on, let’s play Monopoly” John soothed as he held Sherlock’s hand “You can tell us all about the murders which occurred on each square”

Sherlock’s eyes brightened but he clamped down on his excitement and gave only a childish shrug whilst Emma smiled and collected the game.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst and Mystrade smut.
> 
> This Mycroft chapter may be slightly OOC but I wanted to include a bit on Mycroft's emotional state during Sherlock's obvious anxiety. 
> 
> *Trigger warning* Mentions of torture, violence, brief child murder, panic attacks and PTSD. I don't think anything is graphic but wanted to ensure people were aware.
> 
> I've discovered a website which allows you to add the sound of rain and storms over a song. I have included it below as it fits perfectly with this chapter.
> 
> [Historic Love](http://www.rainymood.com/watch?v=N6m6-kwg_U4)

Sherlock was appeased by the family allowing him to win Monopoly; although he had deduced they were allowing him to win, he didn’t complain or fight it. Emma asked the staff to bring in a bottle of Brandy for a nightcap as the weather grew worse outside.

Sherlock pulled his legs up and watched the rain hitting the glass of the window; he lowered his head to rest against John’s shoulder and smiled when John began stroking his fingers through the soft curls. Mycroft stood and clicked on the antique record player; flooding the room with the gentle sounds of classical music which drowned out the weather from outside which was steadily increasing into a storm. Sherlock cringed as a rumble of thunder vibrated the windows and startled the group into giggling nervously.

Mycroft looked at his brother immediately; his trained eyes skimming Sherlock’s face until their gazes met and Sherlock lowered his head. A shared conversation which nobody else was privy to passing between them as Mycroft soothed his brother using only his look.

“John?” Sherlock mumbled, his eyes wide and glazed as he attempted to focus on his partner “Can-Will-I need”

John turned to look and noticed the look of absolute terror which was written across Sherlock’s normally stoic features. The other members of the group looked away cautiously as John grabbed Sherlock’s hand and held it tightly “its okay, you’re okay”

“No John” Sherlock shook his head sadly.

“Perhaps my brother would be more comfortable in his bedroom?” Mycroft offered caringly, no judgement or acidic tone to his voice.

John nodded and held Sherlock’s hand tightly as they stood and slowly began the journey to the bedroom; Sherlock whimpered and threw himself to the floor as another rumble of thunder seemed to rock the house in its volume leaving John half crouched over Sherlock’s shivering and almost catatonic body.

“Sherlock, love, you’re safe. I’ve got you” John soothed as he wrapped his arms around Sherlock, letting the younger man sob into his shoulder before the detective felt able to continue the short journey to the privacy of his room.

It was a fight to keep Sherlock upright but John valiantly struggled through until the pair sealed themselves in the bedroom with the door locked. Sherlock immediately walked to the curtains, pressing himself against the wall as though they were on a stakeout he closed them over the windows and sagged relieved to the floor.

John could only watch nervously; his PTSD ensured that he recognised the symptoms and signs before an attack of horrendous anxiety, but seeing it in Sherlock, _his Sherlock_ , was almost too much.

Sherlock let his back slide down the wall until he was sitting on the floor, his head in his hands. John walked to his side and crouched down,

“Can I come closer?” John asked softly, allowing Sherlock to take control of the situation and what happened between them.

Sherlock looked up with tear stained cheeks and nodded his permission for John to nudge closer until he was sitting opposite Sherlock, their knees almost touching and their fingers entwined.

“Egypt” Sherlock mumbled,

“What happened?” John whispered. He had been curious about Sherlock’s time away since the detective returned but they had never spoken about it. Seeing Sherlock like this however was almost killing John and he needed to know.

Sherlock took a deep breath and exhaled shakily before beginning his story;

“I travelled to Egypt from Libya hunting down a strand of Moriarty’s web; I had good information on the location and source of the hideout which was in a small rundown neighbourhood of Cairo”

John nodded, listening intently to the story.

“I speak passable Arabic; enough to get me through conversation but when I met with my contact, I didn’t realise he was a double agent. I returned to where I was sleeping, a little tin shack on the outskirts of the city when the weather turned; I remember lying on the bare ground looking up at the roof and listening to the _taptaptap_ of the rain against the metal”

Sherlock sighed and let his head fall forward into his hands before continuing,

“I must have fallen asleep as a while later; a security detail from Moriarty’s Egypt group came and knocked down the door. I tried to fight back but it was four against me” Sherlock whispered, emotion forcing his voice to break “they put a hood on me and drove me away, I didn’t know where I was, who I was with, where I was going… all I know is that it was thunder and lightning badly”

John took one of Sherlock’s hands back and ran his thumb over the joints of his knuckles,

“I could see flashes through my hood and the noise was so loud. It seemed to be everywhere at once and I couldn’t get my bearings. I couldn’t tell which direction they were driving” Sherlock’s breathing increased to an almost hyperventilating pace as he spoke. A flash of lightning and crack of thunder caused both men to jump and a whimper to escape Sherlock’s lips without thought.

“They took me somewhere and tied me up. Left me there for days until the leader arrived. They whipped me” Sherlock whispered, “The scar which runs from neck to lower back? That was done by his whip. He had tied pieces of glass and metal to the tails of the whip which cut and tore my skin whenever they made contact”

“Fuck” John felt sick, his stomach seemed to have forced itself behind his knees whilst his heart was lodged somewhere behind his adams apple.

“They eventually let me down from my ropes to taunt me to fight. I let them beat me until they were exhausted and left” Sherlock continued “hours later, a young boy entered to bring me water and a slice of bread. I managed to bribe him with declarations of riches if he helped me escape. That little boy was seven years old and he saved my life”

“How did you escape?” John asked nervously,

“The boy had lived on the farm they were using as a base all of his life. He knew the grounds better than anybody and had explored every inch of the land, he knew about a secret tunnel which led underneath towards the sewer and helped me find it. He saw me off and gave me directions to the nearest British embassy where I could contact Mycroft” Sherlock smiled “So I escaped into the tunnels”

“And the boy?” John probed, he had to know.

Sherlock looked pensive and looked away “by the time Mycroft’s men got to the farm it was a charred ruin. The family were left hanging outside with placards around their necks declaring them traitors”

John sniffed back his emotion and looked away “and you?”

“My wounds were badly infected by the time I reached the embassy. Mycroft’s men cared for me until a doctor could be found to treat me”

“I should have been there. I should have been the one to treat you. To care for you, to rescue you” John cried openly, fat tears splashing onto his folded knees as he gripped Sherlock’s hand tight.

“No John” Sherlock gasped “No. If you’d have been there, something may have happened to you and I’d never have forgiven myself.”

The doctor grabbed his lover and pulled him in for a desperate embrace; the two men held one another and cried until their tears no longer came and their chest and stomachs ached from gasping breaths. Sherlock allowed himself to be pulled against John’s chest and rocked in his arms, letting John stroke his hair and hum lullabies into his curls as they waited for the storm to pass.

* * *

 

“I know you’re awake” Greg whispered into the inky darkness of their shared room. “I can hear your bloody massive mind whirring”

“Apologies” Mycroft mumbled into the pillow. He was lying on his side as far away from Greg as possible to allow the DI to sleep uninterrupted by his tossing and turning.

“Tell me what’s wrong pet” Greg soothed, pulling his weight closer to his lover and running his large hand up and down Mycroft’s side.

“I just worry about Sherlock” Mycroft admitted, “He looked so young and vulnerable during the storm. It breaks my heart”

Mycroft found it much easier to confide in Greg compared to anybody else he had ever met; the DI was so perfectly approachable and trustworthy that Mycroft had felt the first buzz of electricity immediately upon meeting the silver haired man. Greg had took his hand in a strong and confident handshake and a strange friendship had begun; the pair had never socialised, their only contact focussed completely on Sherlock’s wellbeing but there was an underlying respect and mutual friendship from the start.

When Sherlock had left for his exile; Mycroft had been completely lost and alone. The responsibilities of running the country had been placed on his shoulders at a relatively young age but the idea of running the country whilst maintaining a vigilant eye on his baby brother who was out in the wilderness was almost too much for the politician. The thoughts of Sherlock’s death had kept Mycroft awake and studying data and information, rereading the paltry communications between Sherlock and himself to ensure he was doing everything he could to keep his brother safe.

Mycroft would have broken if it wasn’t for Anthea.

Anthea was his most loyal co-worker and best friend ( _if one could all their relationship a friend)._ He found that he could discuss personal matters with her with the same relative ease he could describe worsening tension in Turkey or Bulgaria. Her face would stay impassive but her tone would change to one of softness and caring as she helped Mycroft steer his way through confusing emotions and sentimental experiences he had never known before. Anthea could be trusted to run three Blackberry’s at the same time, to speak any of her six languages fluently to ensure a suitable compromise with bickering countries but she also ensured that Mycroft ate and slept to maintain his health and stability.

She was the person he relied on when Moriarty forced Sherlock to jump from the roof of Bart’s. She promptly rushed to her station and hastily made arrangements whilst Mycroft liaised with Sherlock to ensure that he was safe. Anthea, the person who looked the most inconspicuous whilst out on active duty was the one person who Mycroft trusted in the world until Gregory.

“Forgive me” Mycroft blushed “I was in a world of my own”

Greg wrapped his arms around Mycroft’s back and pushed his forehead between Mycroft’s shoulder blades, pressing soft and delicate kisses onto pale skin as his hand continued to stroke up and down his side.

“Never apologise to me Myc” Lestrade smiled “just let me know what I can do to help”

“You do help” Mycroft whispered and turned himself so they were face to face, his hands cupping Greg’s face as he scanned the detective’s dark eyes.

“I sometimes feel a little bit lost” Greg added softly “like you don’t need me”

“That’s not true” Mycroft gasped “Gregory I…” He trailed off before inhaling “I know it’s difficult and it may seem that way… but it couldn’t be further from the truth”

Greg blinked in shock as he watched a small tear roll down the politicians cheek to soak into the high thread count pillowcase; Mycroft immediately blushed and moved to wipe the remnant away, destroying the evidence of his emotional turmoil but Greg removed his hand and kissed the glittering mark, tasting the slightly salty tear on his tongue as he stroked his fingers through Mycroft’s hair.

“I feel like I have to be strong all of the time” Mycroft sighed “I have to be controlled and dominant, I have to threaten dignitaries and organise things that ordinary people have no experience or idea about when really, all I want to do is stand in the middle of parliament and scream at the top of my lungs.”

Greg continued stroking his lover’s hair and listened as his partner spilled his true thoughts for the first time since they had met.

“I feel like I’m drowning” Mycroft gasped angrily “and you’re my only hope. You’re my life raft”

“What about Anthea?” Greg smiled, knowing how his lover felt about his second in command.

“Anthea? She’s one of those friendly dolphins who help keep strugglers afloat with their fins.” Mycroft huffed out a tiny laugh “She helps me bob to the surface occasionally for a breath of fresh air until I can grab hold of you. Until you can make everything alright”

“Shh pet” Mycroft soothed softly, his hands pulling his partner in tighter until Mycroft’s head was resting over his heart “I’ve got you”

Greg didn’t know anything about Sherlock’s exile until the detective returned with a swish of his great coat; as far as the DI was concerned the detective had died on the kerb beside Bart’s hospital surrounded by strangers as John desperately pushed forward in an attempt to save his best friend. Lestrade had heard the radio call of _man down_ (despite Sherlock not being an official member of staff, he still had some of the officers respect) and immediately rushed to the scene where he found a retching and sobbing John Watson in the back of an ambulance. He was wrapped in the orange shock blanket and shaking so hard that Greg was certain he could hear his teeth chattering.

John had taken a single look at Lestrade and began to cry; huge sobbing tears of grief poured from the doctor’s face, uncaring of how it looked to observers. Greg had climbed onto the back of the ambulance and allowed John to bury himself in his chest and wail violently, screams and cries echoing around the crime scene as John let out his grief and anger. Greg could only shush John softly and hold him tightly as the man clutched at Greg’s shirt and screamed in anguish until the paramedics became scared for John’s mental health and sedated him.

When John had succumbed to the medication flowing through his veins; Greg had hopped from the ambulance and pulled out his mobile. Mycroft probably knew about Sherlock’s death immediately but Greg felt like he should say something… _anything_ … to the man who he had had contact with for years regarding Sherlock’s behaviour and drug use. He dialled Mycroft’s number and was immediately forwarded to Antheas personal line who informed him that Mycroft wasn’t able to come to the telephone and that he would be in contact.

Greg realised now that Mycroft had accompanied Sherlock out of London to their parent’s cottage but at the time, Greg’s heart had grown heavy at the thought of Mycroft mourning the brother he obviously cared so much about. Lestrade had hung up and aimlessly walked around London until Sally had found him and forced him into an unmarked car to be returned to his own paltry flat where she poured two whisky’s and downed one whilst watching Greg throw his own back. She left her friend on the sofa with an instruction for him to try to sleep.

Months passed slowly with Lestrade being put on administrative leave whilst his superiors checked over the cases in which Sherlock had helped. Finding no mistakes or issues they had allowed Lestrade to return to work under constant supervision which Greg was glad for, sitting in his flat had been hellish and lonely. He had attempted to contact John a few times but Mrs Hudson had insisted that he was out; Greg had monitored John for a while and realised that the doctor was walking to the cemetery and sitting beside the simple black headstone which was inscribed with Sherlock’s name. Greg had secretly shed a few tears as he listened to John beg for Sherlock to come back to him, promising the detective that he would be better, that he would protect him and love him.

Mycroft had eventually called and asked Greg out for a drink four months after Sherlock’s death; the call itself was a surprise as Greg sat in his pants and watched the match with a Vindaloo and a six pack of strong lager. The DI had momentarily hesitated before realising that this may be his last chance to finally fulfil his fantasy of kissing the politician and spending a few romantic hours.

Greg knew that like Sherlock, Mycroft didn’t do relationships however he was pleasantly surprised when the man took him out for a meal at a swanky and upscale Italian place on a road which Lestrade could never have afforded. Mycroft had waved away Greg’s protests and insisted on paying for the meal and the second bottle of wine they had purchased before returning to Mycroft’s palatial home in the upmarket suburb of London where he had a townhouse.

It had been almost twenty years since Greg had slept with a man but he found that it came naturally with Mycroft; snogging one another in the doorway soon led to Mycroft walking him backwards down the hall to a huge and sumptuous bedroom with a bed larger than any Greg had ever seen. Mycroft had stripped Greg of his clothes with precise movements and then cautiously stripped himself; blushing at his slightly flabby physique normally covered by his sublime suits which had been perfectly tailored to hide his less than perfect body shape.

Greg had immediately taken charge and proved to Mycroft of his beauty and worth; worshipping at the politician’s feet, Greg had kissed over every inch of Mycroft’s body until the other man was shaking and shivering with desperation and need. Upon reaching Mycroft’s lips; Greg kissed him passionately but softly as he pulled away and made eye contact with his new lover. Mycroft was flushed and panting, his eyes almost completely black as he skimmed Greg’s face for hesitation but finding only lust.

“What do you need?” Greg practically purred into Mycroft’s ear.

“You Gregory. Just you” Mycroft replied with longing.

Greg crawled up Mycroft’s body which was positioned on his back on the thick mattress; they spent another few long moments kissing tenderly before Greg reached for the lubricant which was resting on the top of the bedside table. He used the pump top to coat his fingers before dipping them between his own legs and slipping a finger inside himself with a gasp. It had been a long time since he had anything inside him including his own digits and he forced himself to breath and relax as he pushed a second and finally a third into himself; avoiding his prostate he stretched himself wide before removing his hand and using his clean hand to entwine his and Mycroft’s fingers together.

Their eyes had met in a lingering gaze that seemed to stop time as Greg straddled Mycroft’s waist and steadied himself over the leaking and flushed prick which nudged at his entrance. Greg exhaled shakily and closed his eyes as he lowered himself down, gasping at the brief stretch of Mycroft’s cock finally breaching his tight ring. Both men stilled and groaned low and deep as the sensations washed over them. Greg felt full and stretched whilst Mycroft was surrounded by unbelievable heat and tightness which he had never experienced before in his limited sexual experience. Gripping Greg’s hand tightly, Mycroft felt like he was drowning in sensations as he felt himself slipping further and further inside his lover’s body. Greg bore down on the intruder and whimpered when his arse and thighs finally touched Mycroft’s legs; the pair froze for a seemingly endless amount of time which couldn’t have been more than a minute, hoping to keep their orgasms in check as they shared intimacy for the first time.

Eventually, Greg felt able to move and began a slow rhythm of up and down, using his strong thigh muscles to lift himself until only the tip of Mycroft’s cock remained inside him before allowing gravity to push him back down onto the thick pole which stretched him so blissfully. His body sang with sensation and his brain fizzed with the need to orgasm; driving him closer, closer, closer.

Mycroft came first with a choked cry of something which resembled Greg’s name. Greg followed immediately after, his fingers managing a half a dozen swift strokes before he was gasping and clamping down on Mycroft’s still twitching cock. Greg coated both his and Mycroft’s stomachs in his warmth as his cock pulsed thick streams of cum onto the pale and freckled skin beneath. Mycroft recovered immediately and grabbed Greg down to kiss him passionately as they rode out the aftershocks together, giggling and smiling at the golden afterglow which washed over them.

“Gregory?” Mycroft had whispered when they had curled up side by side with Mycroft running his fingers through the silver threads which he had craved.

“Hmm?” Greg mumbled in reply, already feeling the first tendrils of sleep creeping up on him.

“Never leave”

Now; in a bed which wasn’t theirs, in a house miles away from their ( _almost)_ home. Greg held his lover tight and whispered sweet endearments into the thinning red thatch of hair as he rocked his strong yet emotionally ruined lover through his crying.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd,
> 
> Silliness, smut and goodbyes. Returning to Baker Street in the next chapter.

John awoke with six foot of gangly, cover hogging detective lying on top of him; Sherlock had allowed himself to be poured into bed after the emotional turmoil of the storm and together the pair had cuddled up and pressed against one another whispering nonsense words of devotion. Sherlock had eventually fallen asleep but John stayed awake for hours, thinking of the horrors which happened to Sherlock whilst he was away and parted from his doctor. John eventually couldn’t stop his eyes closing and he fell into a fitful sleep full of shadows and blackness.

As it was their last day at the Holmes manor, John decided that he should wake Sherlock in order to attend the breakfast and spend the few remaining hours in the company of Emma. Shaking the younger man slightly, John kissed his head and face until azure blue eyes blinked open and focussed on John’s face.

“Good morning” John smiled, aware of sleep-sour breath.

“Hmm morning” Sherlock mumbled in reply, giving a lazy yawn and a dramatic stretch as he rolled onto his side and rested his head against John’s chest.

“Today is home day” John whispered, “We should go and speak to your mum”

“Hmmm” Sherlock mumbled, his eyes fluttering closed again.

“Hey, no. You need to get up” John insisted as he stroked through Sherlock’s curls “I think Mycroft will want to check you’re okay”

“Sod Mycroft. It’s warm” Sherlock groaned, pulling the bedcovers over his head and snuggling deeper into the bowels of the bed.

John smiled and moved his feet under the cover; Sherlock had stolen the majority of the duvet during the night leaving the doctor’s feet exposed to the slightly chilly air. Carefully moving inches at a time, John pressed his toes into the space between armpit and hip; he wiggled his toes in against Sherlock’s ribs and watched with a grin as the detective made a loud, high pitched yelp before rolling off the mattress and landing surrounded by duvet onto the floor.

John couldn’t help but cackle loudly as Sherlock desperately fought to free himself from his fabric prison; poking his head from the covers he glared at John before adding “Oh, Very mature!”

Sherlock pounced from the floor and straddled John’s hips; pushing the doctor back to bed mattress, the younger man shuffled until his bum was placed directly over John’s cock before grinding down in small circles, listening to John huff out a surprised groan.

“Why must you be so cruel John Watson?” Sherlock drawled as he pressed soft, breathy kisses over John’s face and down his neck finding every tiny sensitive spot that John wasn’t aware of.

“I...I wasn’t” John gasped, his hands moving to try to reach up for Sherlock’s face only to have them intercepted by Sherlock’s own and pushed back to the bed.

“Whenever I manage to get it settled, you excite it” Sherlock grumbled as his tongue lapped at John’s collarbone.

“Get what excited?” John replied confused,

Sherlock took John’s hand and pressed it over his hard bulge which pressed urgently against his boxer shorts. John groaned and arched his back for more friction as he pushed his hand harder onto Sherlock’s cock.

“It never used to misbehave in this way” Sherlock complained “It used to be _good_ and follow instructions but now it seems to have a Pavlovian response to you being nearby.”

John chuckled softly and cupped Sherlock’s face as he pulled his lover down for a kiss, their groans increasing as they rutted wildly against one another. Sherlock could feel his orgasm just below the surface; fizzling away in his lower abdomen as he let his hard prick push against Johns whilst their tongues swept together.

“Sherlock? Mummy said you have to come down for breakfast” Mycroft said from behind the door, causing both John and Sherlock to growl angrily.

“Walk away Mycroft” Sherlock snarled with his teeth bared “Give us ten minutes in peace without your constant grinding voice”

Sherlock thought he heard the tut escape Mycroft’s lips as the older Holmes turned and walked away from the bedroom door, leaving John and Sherlock to their own devices.

“We should leave” John insisted as he brushed the stray curls from Sherlock’s face. “Your mother will be waiting”

“But John!” Sherlock pouted looking down at his crotch “Please don’t leave me like this”

John narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Sherlock; he knew that the detective was using his massive doe eyes and pout to manipulate John into getting them off, and by saying please he ensured that John would agree but the older man decided to continue to tease,

“I don’t think it’s a good idea Sherlock” John hummed thoughtfully, attempting to stand up half-heartedly.

“It’s a brilliant idea!” Sherlock insisted “Wondrous idea. Imagine how awful travelling home with the constant ache and denial lingering… or, you could just get off with me right now and take the edge off it until we get home”

John groaned as Sherlock did something devilishly clever with his backside; rubbing John perfectly and causing his cock to twitch inside his boxers.

“You are a bad man, a bad, bad man Sherlock Holmes” John groaned as he grabbed the back of Sherlock’s head and quickly flipped their positions until John was lying between Sherlock’s stretched out legs with his lips at his lover’s ear.

“Kith me John” Sherlock lisped before blushing pink and clearing his throat “kiss me”

John nuzzled his nose along the line of Sherlock’s jaw and huffed a laugh against the soft skin of Sherlock’s throat as he whispered “I love hearing you lisp. So sexy”

“Why? It’s an annoying and childish habit” Sherlock scoffed.

“It’s sweet” John smiled before quickly pulling down the front of Sherlock’s boxer shorts and pulling the detective’s fully erect cock out. He did the same with his own and wrapped one small, surgery callused hand around the pair of them together, rubbing them perfectly in time to stimulate each inch of their lengths. Sherlock gasped and came immediately, his back arching from the bed and his eyes clamping closed.

“Fuck yes” John groaned, “Christ Sherlock, so fucking sexy”

Sherlock whimpered as John took himself in hand and began to stroke hard and fast, his hips thrusting minutely to push against Sherlock’s inner thigh as he chased his orgasm which had been lingering for too long. He clamped his eyes closed and chewed on his lower lip as he felt the building pressure, pleasure rising higher and higher before Sherlock lifted himself slightly to press a kiss to John’s lips.

John growled and opened his eyes as he began to cum, soaking Sherlock’s lower stomach, cock and boxer shorts in his ejaculate whilst he stroked the remaining drops from his prick and slowly collapsed on top of Sherlock with an oomph.

“Sorry” Sherlock whispered sheepishly;

“Hmm?” John grumbled, realising he was drooling on Sherlock in his orgasmic haze.

“I was a bit… premature” Sherlock blushed “Sorry”

“s’alright” John drawled, “But we do need to go for breakfast before I starve”

“You’re worse than a hobbit!” Sherlock complained playfully “Shall we pack a picnic for your second breakfast on the way home Mr Baggins?”

“Shuttup” John snorted with a laugh “You lanky git”

##

The pair quickly showered, shaved and dressed before walking down the staircase into the dining room where Emma, Greg and a tired and slightly pale Mycroft sat. The two brother’s cast lingering and inquisitive looks at one another before breaking eye contact and looking down and away from the searching gaze. Emma, noticing the tension clapped her hands excitedly and stood from her chair “Well, I suppose this is our last breakfast for a while” she added with a soft sigh “I have enjoyed having you boys home”

Sherlock slipped into his chair and pulled a strip of bacon from the plate; popping it into his mouth he chewed and nodded to his mother.

“You will have to come and visit soon Emma” John insisted. “We’ll take you out sightseeing or to the theatre”

Sherlock looked horrified at the thought and glared at John who ignored him and continued smiling at Emma. The woman smiled happily and nodded “It would be a pleasure John”

“You’re wearing the necklace Mummy?” Sherlock asked quietly, watching as John realised that his host was wearing the gift that they had purchased for her.

“I am indeed” Emma smiled coyly. “I’m going out with Lady Grey and figured I could show off. She does so love his work”

Sherlock smiled softly and nodded as he nibbled on toast and gripped John’s hand tightly “It suits you”

The meal passed by with comfortable conversations regarding the plans for the day; the cars were expected around midday to allow the men to arrive back in London before rush hour. Sherlock was glad to be going home and happily pulled John back to the room at the first opportunity in order to start packing their suitcases to return. John rolled his eyes and allowed himself to be pulled into the room where Sherlock immediately started to pull out their clothes and shoes, dumping them unceremoniously on the floor.

“You still need to fold them you git” John grinned.

“Why? I’ll be taking them to the dry cleaners tomorrow. Let them do it” Sherlock shrugged as he pulled out his still perfectly folded pants from the drawer.

John huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes as he began packing; humming softly to himself he folded the clothes as best he could before zipping up the case and helping Sherlock to carry them downstairs to wait at the door for the cars.

“John…” Sherlock trailed off, his cheeks slightly flushed from the thoughts rushing through his mind.

“Hmm? You okay?” John worried, his hand pressing against Sherlock’s forehead until the detective swiped at him and grasped his hand tightly.

“Thank you. For last night… and for everything” Sherlock whispered, his eyes lowered to the carpet as he ran his fingers over John’s knuckles. “I overreacted to the storm”

“No you didn’t” John insisted “I understand, probably better than most how scary dreams can be and I’m just glad that I could help you through it. You know… I care for you… more than that though. I just… well, you understand what I’m saying?”

“I think so” Sherlock admitted.

“Oh Sherlock love, the cars are here” Emma smiled as she walked into the hallway and interrupted the intimate scene. The two men sprang apart out of nervousness and soon giggled at their ridiculousness when Emma tutted loudly and rolled her eyes. The drivers of the two separate cars for Mycroft and Sherlock wandered into the house and began gathering the cases before taking them back to the vehicles and sitting back into the driver’s seats to await their passengers.

“Goodbye Mummy” Sherlock smiled as he allowed himself to be pulled in for a stifling cuddle. John chuckled at the scene but felt his heart flutter with pure love for his partner and his mother’s obvious affection for one another. Emma removed herself from Sherlock’s shoulders and turned to John who immediately opened his arms wide for her to hug him; pressing a kiss to her cheek he thanked her for her amazing hospitality and promised to visit again soon and work on Sherlock’s manners. Emma giggled girlishly and tapped John playfully on the shoulder and took a step back to cast a critical eye over her son and his lover.

“Mother” The posh voice from behind signalled Mycroft’s arrival into the hallway, Sherlock and John said their goodbyes and walked to the car, climbing in and waving at Emma, Mycroft and Greg who stood at the entrance to the home.

“I can’t wait to get home” Sherlock mumbled under his breath as he allowed his head to fall back onto the comfortable seat of their car.

“I enjoyed it” John shrugged “I think we should come regularly, help clear our lungs of the London smog.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes but didn’t argue, instead, he folding his fingers into John’s hand and contented himself to fall asleep on the long journey back to Baker Street.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm a bit fussy with this chapter as I feel like I've used their names thousands of times. Sorry if it's a bit disjointed and it's still enjoyable.
> 
> The story is almost complete, I am going to get it posted before Wednesday as I'm going away on holiday! We're going to LONDON! YIPPEEE! I'm going to Baker Street and everyfink!

“Mrs Hudson!” Sherlock shouted as they entered Baker Street for the first time in a week. The detective scanned his eyes critically over the hallway reading the signs of his absence clearly,

_Mrs Hudson had her friends over for a night of playing Bridge and reminiscing of old times. She’s trying to woo Mr Patel again and succeeding as she received a bunch of her favourite Lilly flowers. We’ve had clients but nothing interesting._

“Sherlock dear” Mrs Hudson smiled as she left her flat, drying her hands on a tea towel as she walked to kiss both of her tenant’s cheeks. “How is your mother?”

“Fine, fine” Sherlock gestured dismissively “Did anybody call?”

“No. Not really. One or two clients looking for you but I gave them your email address and told them to message you” Mrs Hudson smiled at the men who were standing closer to one another than usual but not showing any obvious intimacy.

“Urgh” Sherlock threw up his hands in anger “People are so dull”

“You’ll be busy anyway” John insisted “You have six cold cases to work on”

“What?” Sherlock asked incredulously. “When did I agree to this?!”

“When you lost to Lestrade” John raised an eyebrow “Don’t tell me you deleted it”

“I only remember being allowed to have a dig at Sally” Sherlock smiled “I don’t have any recollection of the others”

“Well I do, and you will be doing the cold cases” John grinned and winked at Mrs Hudson as he entwined their fingers together. He winced at the shrill screech which escaped their land-ladies lips as she clapped her hands together and hopped on the spot.

“When did this happen?” She asked excitedly, watching Sherlock roll his eyes and begin to walk up the stairs without John. The pair were soon as far away from one another as possible without breaking hand in hand contact.

“A week before we left. We’ve been taking it slowly” John grinned widely,

“Oh… I see” Mrs Hudson seemed a little upset that she didn’t know sooner but quickly shrugged off the disappointment, her eyes twinkling with mirth as she added “Just to let you dears know, I’m leaving for my sisters in the morning so you won’t have to worry about me”

“When do we ever?” Sherlock asked from his awkward leaning position on the stairway.

John pulled on Sherlock’s arm causing the detective to almost fall down the stairs, both men glared at one another momentarily before John sighed and turned to walk up to the flat. He kissed Mrs H’s cheek softly and grabbed their suitcase before following Sherlock upstairs.

* * *

 

Both men unpacked their case and divided their clothing into piles of clean and dry clean before settling down on the sofa with tea and Doctor Who. John sat upright with one arm draped over the back of the sofa whilst Sherlock lay with his head resting on John’s lap with his fingers in the typical thinking pose,

“John” Sherlock said, startling John who was watching the Daleks intently, remembering his terror as a child.

“What?” The older man replied, ignoring the detective’s gleeful facial expression at causing his lover to jump in momentary fright.

“What are your thoughts on rimming?” Sherlock asked with a smile, watching as the older man blushed crimson and cleared his throat.

“I… I’ve never thought about it” John mumbled and blushed.

“Liar” Sherlock laughed before falling into silent contemplation and leaving John anxiously awaiting the rest of the conversation.

“What brought that on? Why do you want to know?” John eventually asked after a long pause.

“What? Oh, I was just watching videos and wondered if you would be amenable” Sherlock shrugged.

“When were you watching videos?” John asked clearly flummoxed “You haven’t left my side all day”

“The car ride home” Sherlock shrugged “You fell asleep and I was bored”

“So you watched porn?” John chuckled “What about the driver?”

“What about him?” Sherlock replied blankly,

“Surely he knew what you were watching?” John asked shocked.

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders and flicked his gaze up to John’s face reading the now familiar tells of John’s arousal. The doctor smiled and ran his fingers through Sherlock’s hair before whispering “I’m amenable”

Sherlock immediately stood from his position on the sofa and rushed to the bathroom, leaving John in a state of shock and blinking at the empty space where his lover once lay. Sherlock obviously expected John to follow him as he returned to John’s side and frowned “come on then”

“Now?” John blinked.

“Shower. Now” Sherlock nodded “Yes”

John grinned and nodded as he flicked off the TV and followed Sherlock into the bathroom.

* * *

 

After their thorough but intimate shower together the two men exited the steamy bathroom into Sherlock’s bedroom. Sherlock walked without his towel, baring himself completely unashamedly to John’s lustful gaze; John himself wrapped one of the plush white towels ( _stolen from Mycroft’s townhouse when Mycroft was being annoying)_ around his waist and followed his beloved detective into the darkened room. Sherlock clicked on the bedside light and sat onto his comfortable mattress with his arm around his neck, his wet hair clinging to the skin of his forearm as he watched John towel himself dry before settling down beside him.

“Have you thought about how you want to do it?” Sherlock asked with slightly more confidence than he was feeling.

“You first” John blushed “I want to do you first”

The detective’s cheeks flushed pink and he nodded as he worried his lower lip between his teeth and coyly fluttered his eyelashes “How would you like me positioned?”

“Hands and knees I think” John soothed softly “But there’s no rush, let’s kiss first”

Sherlock relaxed at the thought of just kissing as John moved closer and cupped the taller man’s chin with his smaller but sturdy hand. Sherlock almost melted into the embrace as he felt the first touch of lip to lip, John’s tongue flicking out and licking along the seam of his lips and asking for entrance. The detective sighed and capitulated; opening his lips he allowed his tongue to slip in a steady rhythm with John’s as they snogged passionately and sensually, their hands tangled in one another’s shower damp hair as they groaned and sighed into one another’s mouths.

John moved his lips and began a slow trail along his lover’s cheek, down his throat and across his clavicle as Sherlock arched from the bed and groaned deep and sultry. His entire body was thrumming with arousal and he wanted to be taken entirely by John who was only willing to oblige. John added his fingers into the mix as he kissed along pale but strong biceps, down his forearm and even nuzzling his face into his armpit which caused the detective to giggle slightly before slamming shut his mouth.

John chuckled and ran his nose across the peaked nubs of Sherlock’s nipples as he stimulated them with his skin. His fingers ran down the thin waistline until his thumb happened to stop directly over the bullet wound; he ceased his movements and stared down at the unassuming hole knowing that that tiny entry wound almost ended the greatest thing to ever happen to him.

“John” Sherlock whispered, his voice almost breathless.

“Sorry” John snapped out of his thoughts and shook the badness away as he faked a smile and kissed along Sherlock’s flat stomach.

The brief pause had been enough to cause John’s cock to soften to completely flaccid. The thought of Sherlock lying dead on a slab had stopped his arousal and he blinked away the intense sorrow at the thought of Mary being the one to hurt his lover.

“Stop it” The detective insisted, his voice thicker and more guttural now “John”

“Right… right… yes” John nodded and took a shaky inhale before letting it out. Feeling more confident he continued to kiss prominent hipbones until he was face to face with Sherlock’s rather impressive cock which was flushed an angry pink and was leaking copiously onto his lower stomach. John ran his fingers through the sticky precum and smiled at the realisation that he did that. He caused Sherlock to leak onto his stomach in desperate arousal.

A deep groan escaped as John dropped his lips onto the turgid length, pressing the hot flesh against his tongue and rolling it around his mouth as he sought to drive his lover wild with need.

It didn’t take long until Sherlock was gasping out a warning that he was close; he blushed at the thought that he had prematurely orgasmed before, during their cautious exploration and he didn’t want to ruin the mood and stop something which he himself had suggested. John merely took Sherlock’s prick in his hand and squeezed around the base; cutting off the orgasm in mid flow and causing Sherlock to gasp at the tightness as he slammed shut his eyes and took deep breaths.

“Turn over” John whispered, his voice full of lust and need as he ran his warm fingers up and down pale thighs. The detective nodded in agreement and shakily lifted himself onto his hands and knees baring his most private area to John for the first time.

John’s breathing hitched as he watched Sherlock turn onto his hands and knees with his arse sticking in the air; John would have laughed at the ridiculousness of their situation if it wasn’t so arousing and sexual. Running his hands up and over Sherlock’s backside, he smiled and pressed a few tiny, breathy kisses onto the soft pale skin completely unmarred with spots or scars unlike the pale and scarred back which was now visible in its entirety. John moved his lips closer to the main prize which twitched nervously with each exhale,

“Relax” John soothed as he used his thumbs to spread open the perfect buttocks to allow himself the opportunity to stare at the dusky pink ring.

Sherlock let his head fall forward into the pillow and bowed his back as John stroked his skin softly; adding kitten licks and kisses across the skin until finally reaching his lover’s hole. John flattened his tongue and swept a large, wet stripe across the skin; he smiled happily when Sherlock keened loudly and grabbed for the sheets beneath, a nest of black curls turned to stare in wide-eyed shock at his lover behind him.

“John…I…That… Christ” he mumbled before letting his head fall back to the pillow.

John chuckled and pointed his tongue, flicking it around the rim and down over his perineum, careful to ensure that Sherlock wasn’t overstimulated and close to orgasm before John had actually opened him up fully. John wanted to push the boundaries slightly and possibly include his fingers into their anal play.

“Stop thinking and lick” Sherlock demanded breathily from his pornographic pose.

“Yes your highness” John laughed as he unleashed his full knowledge on how to drive Sherlock wild. He teased his lover with small, delicate kisses along his buttocks before surprising him with long and wicked swipes across his hole, watching as Sherlock mewed and gripped the bedding tighter. John used his hands to spread him wide and buried his head between the cheeks; licking and lapping like a starving man at a banquet. Sherlock was past the point of coherent speech and instead focussed on the simple act of breathing which seemed to be becoming harder with each passing second.

John used his tongue to spell out words across the sensitive skin; reasoning that Sherlock was too far gone in pleasure that he wouldn’t be aware of the shapes he slowly and teasingly spelt out _I love you_ over the twitching and sensitive entrance before collecting what spit he could and pushing it inside Sherlock’s body with the very tip of his tongue, enjoying the sensation of a hole rippling around his muscle as John probed deeper and further.

“Have you got lube here?” John asked carefully, pulling his mouth away from his lovers arse to speak only to be glared at by an obviously painfully aroused detective.

“T-Top Drawer” the detective panted in reply as he used his hand to search for the small tube he had ‘rescued’ from John’s bedroom.

John refused to start an argument about boundaries whilst he was tongue deep inside his lover, so pushed Sherlock’s inability to give him privacy to one side and coated his fingers with the slick liquid. Warming it in his hands he gave a final kiss to Sherlock’s buttock before pulling away.

“May I put my finger in you?” John asked breathily, desperately hoping his detective agreed.

“Please John, Yes” Sherlock nodded frantically, his cock dripping so plentifully that for a moment, John was afraid that he had missed Sherlock’s orgasm but thankfully realised it was only precum.

John used his thumb to press against Sherlock’s perineum before his middle finger slipped into the now relaxed hole; Sherlock gasped and threw back his head as he felt John’s finger push inside him for the first time. All rational thought washed from his mind leaving Sherlock only able to chant the words _yes, John, more._

John smiled at Sherlock’s whimpers and twisted his finger around the warm walls of his insides; his medical training helping him once more as he located his prostate and pressed carefully on the swollen and sensitive gland.

Sherlock gasped at the sensation as his eyes rolled back in his head and his body jerked with an electric shock. John stilled momentarily until his lover came back to himself and carefully tapped on the gland rather than stroke it, giving him the stimulation which he so desperately craved without the overwhelming sensation. Sherlock’s body became pliant under John’s fingers and his cock twitched and leaked further with drops of creamy white precum dripping onto the bedding below as the doctor milked out Sherlock’s orgasm.

“Tell me if it gets too much” John whispered, kissing a creamy upper thigh as he slowly inserted a second finger, feeling him stretching around his callused digits as he begun a steady rhythm of in and out whilst stimulating his prostate on every second stroke.

“John… John Please… Oh Christ, oh fuck” Sherlock cried, his hips pushing back for a harder thrust against his prostate.

“What do you need?” John asked, carefully manoeuvring his free hand underneath the tube of lubricant and using his foot to press on the bottom to squeeze the gel onto his palm.

“Need to cum” Sherlock whined,

Sherlock turned his head over his shoulder and looked at John with a look of absolute wonder written on his face; his cheeks were flushed and almost bright red and his usually colourless eyes were now dark and almost completely black with arousal. His hair which he normally kept so perfectly controlled was frizzed and sticking up raggedly giving him the look of a Wildman.

John used his lube covered hand to wrap around Sherlock’s cock and smiled when it seemingly twitched in gracious thanks. John held tightly and started at the base, pulling it down gradually and watching as the white drips became more plentiful as he slowly teased the cum out. The younger man lowered his head and gripped the pillow beneath him in a death grip as soft pants and moans escaped his lips unbidden; John was completely spellbound by his lover and gave a final stroke of Sherlock’s prostate to coincide with a sweep over the detective’s frenulum and watched in awe as Sherlock’s muscles completely locked and he threw back his head with a silent scream.

Sherlock’s orgasm seemed to wash over him like a tsunami of sensation; his brain quieted to nothingness and his vision whited out as ribbon after ribbon of cum erupted from his prick to cover John’s hand. Sherlock could only focus on attempting to breathe as forgotten hormones rushed through his body and bounced off one another like a pinball machine.

John continued to stroke his lover through his orgasm; surprised at the intensity of Sherlock’s climax he watched as the detective finally stopped ejaculating after what seemed like minutes but could only have been seconds. Coaxing the last remaining drops from his shaft, he slowly removed his fingers from Sherlock’s hole and made soft soothing noises as he helped Sherlock turn onto his side away from the wet patch which covered a huge circular space in the middle of the bed.

John only intended on stopping the ache in his cock but found that once he gripped his shaft tightly; he was close to the edge of his own orgasm. Looking down at Sherlock so blissfully aware of his predicament, John stroked himself quickly, revelling in the sensations after being neglected for so long. Swiping a thumb over his slit he hissed with sensitivity before bucking his hips into the tight fist he had made; his orgasm startled him and he rocked into it, shooting streams of seed into his own hand and onto his crossed legs as he shuddered and groaned.

The doctor took a minute to gather his thoughts _(and ensure he wouldn’t fall over once he attempted to stand)_ before quickly escaping to the bathroom. Wetting a towel with warm water he returned to the bedroom and began to clean Sherlock of a combination of lube and semen before ensuring he was clean himself. He grabbed the towel which was lying on the floor from his shower and folded it carefully, putting it over the wet patch before climbing onto the mattress and pulling Sherlock onto his chest. He stroked the raven frizz which covered Sherlock’s head until he fell asleep.

* * *

 

3 Hours later;

“John? It’s your turn now”

“Go to sleep”

“I should return the favour”

“Another night will be fine. I’m sleepy”

[Silence for 3 minutes]

“John?”

“What Sherlock?”

“I love you too”


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slightly ridiculous and cracky chapter based on a true event between me and my bestie. Trying to add a little bit of humour into the story,
> 
> Not beta'd. 
> 
> You may get spammed with chapters over the next few days as I want to get everything posted before my jolly holiday!

Sherlock sulked all the way to the Yard and refused to speak to John who had insisted that the detective go and pick up the cold case files which had been promised to Lestrade after their tennis match and Cluedo. Sherlock pouted and huffed but allowed himself to be pushed into the cab and through the almost deserted London streets.

As they pulled up, Sherlock fastened the buttons on his coat and walked up the stairs. Flouncing into the office he immediately walked to Lestrade’s office and burst through the door catching Lestrade mid bite of his bacon sandwich.

“Where are they then?” Sherlock huffed angrily “I imagine they’ll be simple enough knowing you and your staff”

John and Lestrade met one another’s gaze and rolled their eyes as the overdramatic man-child paced around the office, seemingly picking up things at random.

Greg handed him the files and let himself relax back into his chair “You can take them home if you like.”

“That’s code for piss off” A voice in the doorway added, the trio of men craned their necks and watched as Anderson grinned. He seemed proud of his quip and smirked whilst leaning against the doorjamb,

“Go away” Sherlock mumbled, waving his hand dismissively, his eyes scanning Anderson before turning his back on the annoying prat. John and Lestrade could only watch with shock when Sherlock merely continued looking over the cases,

“Sherlock?” John whispered softly, “You alright?”

“Hmm? What? Yes fine John” Sherlock replied as he flicked through the crime file “Lestrade here is your problem. You missed the obvious clues; the person who did it was the nephew with the blue shoes”

Lestrade snorted a laugh and held out his hand to take back the file before shooing Sherlock away with the remaining 5 folders. John pushed Anderson out of the doorway and stood to one side as Sherlock flounced through the entrance to the lifts,

“You didn’t say anything to him” John said quizzically “You had your chance to rip him to shreds but you didn’t”

Sherlock shrugged “It wasn’t the right time. Plus, I want to ensure Sally is there for maximum effect”

“You’re evil” John chuckled softly.

“Hmm, I suppose I am” Sherlock clucked as the lift doors opened and the two men walked back into the city.

* * *

 

Back at Baker Street, Sherlock flopped onto the sofa still in his coat and shoes with a look of distain lining his face. John kicked off his own trainers and moved to put on the kettle before making two cups of tea and handing Sherlock his,

“It’s not that bad.” John smiled “You’re pretending it is, but deep down, you know you love the cases.”

“These are dull John!” Sherlock insisted throwing the files onto the table “Boring, dull, mundane, vapid and wearisome that the idiots at Scotland Yard could figure out if they weren’t too busy obsessing over who is President or what Miley Cyprus is doing”

“We don’t have a President… and it’s Miley Cyrus” John grinned from his seat across the room “I can’t believe you know who Miley Cyrus is”

“I tried to delete it but it’s that song!” Sherlock complained bitterly, “It’s impossibly annoying but catchy”

John sniggered and raised his mug to his lips, “So, you’re a fan of her back catalogue then?”

Sherlock glared angrily and rolled his eyes, hoping to teleport himself out of the conversation but being too lazy to get up to storm off.

“And her Hannah Montana days? Were you a fan?” John continued,

“Piss off” Sherlock spluttered “Why don’t you go type something. I have work to do”

“Fine” John smiled grabbing his laptop and moving to the stairs to his bedroom “You’re not going to shoot the walls are you?”

“Probably not” Sherlock admitted.

“Coz’ you know, you came in like a wrecking balllllll” John sang before bursting into giggles and immediately rushing upstairs to lock himself in his bedroom.

He swore he heard Sherlock call him a twat.

* * *

 

Sherlock was busy working through a particularly tricky theft when his mobile chimed; as John wasn’t available, Sherlock reached into his pocket and pulled out the device to read his new email. A grimace covered his face as he read the words;

**Dear Sherlock Holmes,**

**Thank you for signing up for the Miley Cyrus fan club! Please click this link to validate your email**

“Jawwwwwn?” Sherlock shouted angrily.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is practically just smut. Although I quite like the last scene where they make love.
> 
> The porn that John is watching is from a company called CockyBoys and the porn star is Colby Keller. You can find it on Pornhub if you're interested *blush* I only watched it for research... promise.

The doctor took a deep breath and steadied himself by holding the edge of the laptop; the video itself wasn’t causing him to become aroused but the sounds which remained echoing around his mind were causing his cock to definitely react as he imagined the breathy sounds he could pull from Sherlock. Deciding to research further, John flicked through a selection of video’s until he found one which looked unthreatening and less scary than leather glad muscled men thrusting into one another. He checked he was still alone before gazing down at the video which now played,

The room in which the video was set was bright and airy; the video was filmed in HD and showed two men sitting on a sofa chatting together, one had longish brown hair and a hairy chest whilst the other looked sleek and olive skinned ( _possibly Latino John thought)_. It was obviously stage managed to perfection but John found himself becoming lost in the moment as he listened to the two men talk; he skipped through the talking until he reached them kissing one another, soft and passionate, filled with something that could have been genuine feeling as the longer haired man kissed along the other man’s neck. John startled when the camera panned out to show the muscular hairy man’s fingers buried two deep in his lovers arse.

“Christ” John spat, nervously pausing the video and calming his breathing at the unexpected rush. He had expected more foreplay before they actually progressed to any sexual activity but apparently not, John clamped his eyes closed and exhaled before restarting the video and watching as the Latino man held his lover tightly around the neck and kissed him passionately.

The porn stars moved to oral sex; a subject John was more comfortable with. His heart stopped fluttering nervously as he watched the hairy man straddle his lover’s chest and run his shaft over the other man’s lips. John found himself startled at how aroused he was when the hairy man whispered “Suck my balls” and blushed as his British guilt flooded him. This was quickly forgotten when the Latino man bent himself on hands and knees to allow his friend to bury his tongue deep into his pink arse.

John had performed analingus before Sherlock; he had enjoyed the sense of power and privilege it gave him to watch his female partners to go absolutely wild with taboo sensations and since the night when the pair had indulged in the act, they had brought each other to orgasm again and again with either Sherlock licking at John, or John licking at Sherlock. John had never been rimmed before Sherlock and the sensations were unbelievable ( _almost sending John into a rage that he’d never experienced it before)_ leading to an almost embarrassingly quick orgasm when Sherlock’s normally so spiteful and sharp tongue softened itself to lap at his entrance.

John shuddered sensually as he thought of pulling the gasping, moaning and desperate sounds from Sherlock using only his tongue inside Sherlock’s buttocks. Licking, sucking and nibbling at the almost untouched hole. The sounds from the screen had increased as the hairy man pushed his thumb inside his lover and then the camera panned out to show the Latino man being bent over the bed and fucked hard by the hairy man.

John paused the video once more to centre himself and his feelings; he had watched anal sex videos before ( _before, during and after his marriage to Mary)_ but he had never watched two male’s having anal sex. A shiver ran through his spine as he imagined the feeling of pushing his cock inside Sherlock… or having Sherlock push into him. His mind momentarily stopped working at that thought and he was forced to shake the thoughts away.

He continued the video, the groaning was increasing, interspersed with panting and breathy moans of absolute pleasure which John wasn’t sure were all completely faked. The younger man’s chest and neck was flushed pink as he gasped and threw back his head in bliss whilst the larger, hairier man thrust harder, harder, harder.

John rubbed at his cock through his pants and noticed that he was rock hard; the thought of making Sherlock gasp and pant for breath was almost enough to have him over the edge as he watched the intimate kissing between the porn stars. John wouldn’t want to have sex with Sherlock this way, not this hard at least and certainly not for their first time; Sherlock had admitted it had been decades since he last had sex and John absolutely didn’t want to rush their first time together. He wanted it to be slow and passionate, intense and loving ( _which Sherlock would probably scoff at)._

The scene had changed as the younger man climbed on top of his lover and began to ride him whilst facing away; His cock swung and bobbed with every movement and John could tell that the man had been hard for a long time, his tip leaking and almost purple with need as his hips pushed back and forth.

 _Would Sherlock ride me?_ John wondered. He couldn’t imagine why not, Sherlock liked being the centre of attention and in control so riding would be the perfect opportunity to do both. John’s breath caught at the idea of him sitting in his chair, watching the back of Sherlock’s head as the detective bounced up and down over his cock. Raven curls bouncing wildly as Sherlock fisted his own cock whilst throwing his head back in bliss, driving John closer and closer to his release. John would cry out that he was close and Sherlock would make an agreeing noise before keening loudly and clamping down on John’s cock, milking the climax out of his lover and forcing John to unload his cum deep inside Sherlock’s hole whilst Sherlock’s own cock twitched and spilled over his own stomach and down their thighs.

John snapped back to reality and realised he was openly wanking on the bed he shared with his lover; his hand was wrapped around his cock and stroking in time with the noises and grunts from the performers onscreen who were rapidly reaching their orgasms. The younger man cried out desperately that he was coming and despite the American accent, John imagined that it was Sherlock calling for John to fuck him harder. John’s body froze at the peak of his orgasm before toppling wildly over with a silent scream as he covered his t-shirt in thick ribbons of pearly white cum. The doctor let go of his cock and dropped his head to the pillow as he gasped and relaxed into his orgasmic afterglow,

He suddenly was very, very excited for Sherlock’s return. The detective had returned the new solved cold cases to Lestrade and was picking up takeaway on the way back ( _if he remembered)_ to allow the two men to have a quiet night in; the perfect opportunity to raise the question of ‘going all the way’ together.

John quickly showered and cleaned off his cum covered clothing as best he could before putting it into the washing basket. He walked into the kitchen and cleared away the table but realised that Sherlock’s most recent experiment was ( _apparently)_ at a very important time and wasn’t to be disturbed for any reason. John rolled his eyes and began clearing off the coffee table, pulling it in the middle of the room he rummaged through the kitchen drawers until he found a clean and none experimented on table cloth which he draped over the wooden table. Fishing around in Sherlock’s drawer of questionable contents, he found a small bag of tea light candles which he put onto the table along with a fork for himself ( _he’d never figured out how to use chopsticks unlike Sherlock)._ Rolling the sleeves of his shirt up, he found the IPod and connected it to the speaker, starting a playlist of romantic and slushy songs which were traditionally used during his previous dates with women on the chance of getting laid. Something he now regretted.

John checked the room and nodded to himself; he heard the downstairs door open and Sherlock’s footsteps walking up the stairs. Steeling himself for Sherlock ridiculing him, John lit the candles and put the Union Jack pillow onto the floor to soften his bum against the cold floor.

“The man from number 32 is having an affair with the pretty brunette from the chip shop…” Sherlock said as he walked through the living room only to stop and gape at the romantic scene set out in front of him. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the room and then John himself,

“Is it our anniversary?” the detective asked cautiously, “because I haven’t purchased you a gift which I heard is traditional to mark the passing of time…”

“No” John chuckled “We’ve only been together officially 18 days”

“See! You’re keeping count. I don’t know how to do this John” Sherlock sighed exasperatedly “You’re so much better at this than me. I’m going to be a terrible boyfriend”

John’s stomach flipped at the use of the term boyfriend but let it slide as he walked up to Sherlock and stroked through his hair and placed a soft kiss on the tip of his nose “Daft arse, I just thought it would be nice. Y’know, romantic”

Sherlock looked at the floor and then at John before nodding his understanding and moving to place the food on the candlelit table.

“You didn’t move my experiment” Sherlock said, obviously impressed.

“You said it was important” John smiled “I didn’t want to gas the flat or explode something”

“It’s nothing that extreme” Sherlock waved away John’s concerns “Just a bit of acid”

“Oh well” John huffed a laugh “Nothing extreme there then. Just acid on the table where he eat”

Sherlock gave a soft smile before sitting opposite John on the floor and folding his legs under him as he helped empty the takeaway containers. Both men happily picked at the food whilst chatting about various subjects; the only sound in the flat being their voices and the soft tinkling of the music playing from the speakers.

“This is lovely. Thank you” Sherlock whispered bashfully.

“You’re welcome” John smiled.

“I’ve never had this before. Romance and seduction, the man I was with years ago wasn’t quite as nice as you are” Sherlock added sadly before lifting his eyes to John “Sorry, is that a faux pas to discuss ex’s on a date?”

“Sort of” John smiled “But then again, we’re eating in a room where acid is feet away from us. We don’t do anything traditionally”

Sherlock grinned and nodded before standing and opening a bottle of wine which he returned to the table and poured for John.

“A toast?” John asked as he lifted his glass.

Sherlock shrugged but held up his glass in answer and waited for John to speak.

“Oh erm… to a modern relationship, long may it continue” John eventually said, his cheeks blushing red at the thought of Sherlock laughing at him.

“A historic love” Sherlock countered as he touched his glass to John’s.

* * *

 

Neither man remembered the walk to the bedroom or the stripping of one another’s clothes; it was almost as though it had been completed in a trance like state as the pair stroked their hands against naked flesh. Sherlock turned them until John was lying below, his cock hard and straining against his stomach as the detective kissed along John’s creamy, tanned skin. Sherlock kissed the marred skin of John’s scar before nuzzling down to pert nipples and the slightly soft and round stomach; John could only groan and watch as Sherlock bent further until he wrapped his lips around John’s red tipped cock and swallowed him down as far as he could, retching slightly when the tip touched his soft palate. Sherlock inhaled and exhaled to calm himself before trying again until his nose was buried in the coarse, golden hairs of John’s pubic bone.

“Fuck Sherlock, pull off” John begged, his fingers clamped onto the mattress tightly as if he could centre himself using only the bed.

“Did I do it wrong?” Sherlock asked with concern.

“Christ no” John smiled and ran a finger over Sherlock’s cheek. “It felt too good and I didn’t want to finish early”

“John… I was rather hoping… or wondering rather… whether you might… well… feel ready for full penetrative sex?” Sherlock blushed and looked up at his lover through long, black lashes.

John could only nod wordlessly and hope that all of his thoughts and feelings could be expressed via the medium of mime as he continued to nod.

“Do you have a preference?” Sherlock asked softly “I think I prefer to bottom but I could top if you would like to try”

John’s mind went offline again momentarily as he considered Sherlock’s words. _Would he want to bottom? The thought was certainly tantalising but tonight, John could only imagine burying himself deep inside Sherlock._

“Whichever you want is fine” John mumbled when he eventually remembered how to speak.

Sherlock smiled and took the lube from the drawer as well as a box of condoms “I didn’t know if…” Sherlock trailed off.

“No. No condoms” John shook his head “Not with you”

Sherlock flushed pink around the cheeks and ears as he lay down on the bed and pulled John over to kiss him. John tutted and rolled his eyes playfully before capturing Sherlock’s lips in a breathless and passionate embrace which soon had them both panting and rutting against one another.

“We need to stop that unless you want the night to be over” John moaned, his orgasm already lingering in his abdomen once again.

“No!” Sherlock shouted slightly too loud, startling John and causing them both to giggle.

John moved to sit between Sherlock’s legs and positioned the detective in the best way for comfort and ease for John to open him up wide enough to take John’s large prick. Taking the lube in his hand, John squeezed some onto his fingers and rubbed his thumb over the furled knot of Sherlock’s entrance, enjoying the sensation of the muscles fluttering wildly as Sherlock attempted to push himself down and impale himself onto John’s digit.

“Stop that” John laughed, smacking Sherlock playfully on the hip as he slowly began to push his middle finger into the warm hole which welcomed him easily. Sherlock gasped and spread his legs wider as John’s finger briefly touched his prostate before pulling away,

Sherlock took his own cock in hand and stroked it gently when he felt John’s second finger nudging in alongside the first; Sherlock groaned and arched his back as he ran a thumb over his slit and stroked the precum around his shaft. John watched Sherlock intently for any pain and after finding none, he slowly slid a third into Sherlock’s body.

The younger man hissed at the stretching and burning sensation which accompanied John’s larger than average fingers; tensing his muscles he clamped down on the invading digits and closed his eyes tightly in a bid to block out the discomfort.

“Hey, hey look at me”

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked up at his lover who was looking up with a look of care and devotion which made Sherlock’s heart stand still.

“I’m sorry, it was a bit overwhelming” Sherlock admitted “It’s been a long time”

“I know love, I’m sorry it hurt” John added as he bent forward to press a kiss to the tip of Sherlock’s cock, flicking his tongue into the dripping slit.

“Its… fine” Sherlock groaned at the sensation of John probing his tip “Keep going”

John followed his detective’s instructions as usual.

Scissoring his fingers open, he worked Sherlock wide whilst adding lube to ensure that Sherlock was comfortable. John stroked his fingers across his lover’s prostate and watched as the younger man groaned and twitched, his tense stomach muscles fluttering with every movement as John played him like an instrument. When the doctor was confident that Sherlock was wide enough, he pulled out his fingers and wiped them on the bed before shuffling further up the bed and kissing Sherlock passionately. Sherlock wiggled slightly to position John against his hole whilst wrapping his legs around John’s waist and crushing their lips together,

John ran his fingers through Sherlock’s curls and let his forehead rest against his lovers as they realised the momentous act which was about to take place. Sherlock was going to take John’s homosexual virginity,

“I adore you” Sherlock whispered into the space between them, his hips moving up and down in a desperate attempt to catch John’s cock on his rim. John blinked back hot tears before replying “I love you” and kissing Sherlock softly on his red bow lips.

John reached between their bodies and placed his cock in the rightful place before meeting Sherlock’s gaze and slowly pushing inside; the feeling was unlike anything John had ever felt before, hot, tight and wet velvet gripped him tightly as he slowly worked his way inside of his lover. Sherlock was feeling the stretch and burn of John’s cock entering him for the first time but he wore the slight ache as a badge, he wanted everyone to know that he now belonged entirely to Captain John Watson MD.

“John” Sherlock whispered, his mind unfurling with the feeling of John going deeper into his hole, touching him in places that he had forgotten.

“Right here” John replied, his fingers returning to entwine into Sherlock’s to ground them both.

John stayed still until Sherlock nodded that it was okay for him to begin to move; the doctor groaned as he removed himself inch by inch before thrusting back inside. The gripping sensation was more than John had ever experienced and he experimented with various thrusts and angles until Sherlock’s tensing and groaning showed that he had found the correct place. He lifted himself onto his arms and began to thrust harder, maintaining eye contact with Sherlock as he worked himself deeper and deeper, slamming his cock against Sherlock’s most special spot deep inside. Sherlock lifted his arms around draped them across John’s shoulders as he clawed at the skin with his nails, gasping and crying with each thrust.

“John… John Stop I… Oh…” Sherlock panicked, his eyes rolling back as his cock exploded between their bodies. The constant pounding of his prostate had set him off into a premature orgasm which seemed to steal all of his energy as shot after shot of creamy cum covered their skin. John could only continue thrusting as Sherlock’s hole fluttered and clenched around his prick, milking his own orgasm from him in such a rush that it made John feel dizzy.

“Oh Christ” John wailed, his nails digging into Sherlock’s hand as he managed three further shaky thrusts before he was coming, filling Sherlock with a bloom of heat unlike anything he had ever felt. The two men held one another tightly until John’s shaky arms could no longer support him and he fell awkwardly onto Sherlock’s torso, his face buried into Sherlock’s neck as they shuddered and gasped through the final aftershocks of their climaxes.

John caught his breath before rolling to the side and allowing his cock to slip out of Sherlock’s abused hole; the detective winced slightly at the feeling but simply shuffled further into John’s embrace, uncaring at the mess which was cooling on their skin and inside of Sherlock’s body. John held Sherlock tightly and stroked his fingers through the raven curls until Sherlock’s breathing returned to normal and the detective began to doze in his lovers arms.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter I have written, I'm leaving for my holiday tomorrow and will probably attempt to write the final chapter when I return on Monday. 
> 
> This is a little case-fic of which I have no idea about policing or murdering (promise). I've pretty much blagged it through just as an excuse to have Sherlock vs Sally.

A week passed with relatively little intrigue for Sherlock who was still sulking over the boring nature of the cold cases which Lestrade had given them; he was almost ready to shoot the walls when Greg called with a new triple murder in Chinatown. Sherlock woke John with a nudge in the ribs and leaped from the bed to dress, he was fully clothed, shaved and raring to go before John had even moved from the shower. The two men climbed into the waiting unmarked police car and sat silently as Sherlock digested the details of the case so far,

Three people had been found dead in an empty warehouse along with a selection of sex toys, bondage apparatus and a camera. All indicators pointed to sexual misadventure but the police couldn’t be sure, which is why Sherlock was on his way to the scene. Exiting the car; Sherlock immediately picked up the clues as he scanned the scene and the bodies.

_Victim one: Female, Chinese origin, young perhaps 25 years old, good health and education status. Studying to do something in the media. Cause of death, Blunt force trauma to the head._

_Victim two: Body is trussed up with thick black ropes in a familiar style (return to this), victim is female, Chinese, young with recently enhanced breasts and dyed red hair. Small amount of vomit and red froth at the mouth._

_Victim three: Male, middle aged Caucasian. Hereditary pattern baldness and a history of drug abuse, dead behind the camera and appears to have fallen where he died. Blunt force trauma to the head._

“Has anything been moved?” Sherlock asked as he peered into the lens of the camera, noting the position and angle of recording.

“Nothing. We checked their pulses but when we realised they were dead we left them alone” Greg muttered, fiddling with his pockets for a cigarette.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you” Sherlock mumbled, looking over at Greg’s hand “Smoke I mean”

“And why not?” Greg rolled his eyes, technically smoking on a crime scene was a no no, but there was something in the air which made his nose tickle and his throat contract.

“Can you not smell that?” Sherlock asked looking around the crime scene “Apparently you’re all clever enough to be in charge of the welfare of others yet you’re completely inept at solving the most obvious of cases”

“Sherlock” Greg sighed and pressed his fingers across the bridge of his nose “Just tell me what it is”

“John?” Sherlock looked to his lover hopefully.

“It smells familiar…” John looked between Greg and Sherlock.

“Because it is. Chlorine gas, I accidently flooded the flat with it once and it took three days to clear” Sherlock explained “Which is the cause of death for the second, bound victim”

“Jesus! Chlorine gas?!” Greg panicked, remembering the stories of WW1 soldiers drowning in their own lung fluid.

“Don’t worry, it’s diluted enough not to hurt us but you must have felt it tickling your throat?” Sherlock asked as he bent over the male victim and checked the head wound. “This victim and the first were killed by a long, metal implement. I’m guessing a crowbar or something similar but I won’t know until the autopsy”

“Any ideas why?” Greg asked, realising that Sherlock could probably tell the motive just from the bodies.

Sherlock gave a soft sigh and rolled his eyes before beginning his long speech “The rope patterns which the victim is bound in are a Chinese bondage technique called Kun Bang. Her arms are completely knotted behind her back stopping her being able to move; she has been hoisted into the air to allow the person, most probably victim one to sexually titillate her for the purposes of a pornographic film” Sherlock nodded towards the camera “However, at some point during proceedings, somebody interrupted and killed the Cameraman and Victim one before flooding the warehouse with Chlorine gas and watching as the girl choked to death”

“Christ” John groaned,

“The memory card from the camera is missing which I assume means that the killer has taken it to upload onto the internet. He’s created a genuine snuff film of which lucrative amounts of money can be made” Sherlock finished before looking at Greg who was stunned to silence.

“Brilliant” John smiled towards his lover, his eyes sparkling with mischief and love.

Sherlock rolled his eyes but inwardly flushed at the praise from John, something he always enjoyed. He was about to turn away and leave the scene in his trademark stride when Sally stood in front of him with her arms folded and her eyes hard.

“How come you know about this? Is this what you and John get up to on a night then, freak? Is it the only time he gets peace when you’re tied up?” Sally laughed cruelly, looking at Anderson who returned her smile.

John’s stomach dropped; although he didn’t need to worry for too long before Sherlock turned his critical eye to Sally and simply stared until the female detective began to squirm under his piercing gaze.

“Is that something you think about on a regular basis, Sally?” Sherlock spat the last word, his eyes becoming hard and mean as he took a step closer to her. “When you’re home alone, with your cats, do you think of what me and John do in bed?, Wondering what we do together?”

“I…Er…” Sally began only to be cut off by Sherlock’s continued soft tone.

“I noticed that you’re home alone more often. The cat hairs on your skirt show you’ve spent more time at your flat recently and I noticed that your legs haven’t been shaved in what looks like three days. So you’re not having regular sex then, I wonder if it’s because Anderson has told you that he needs to end things with his wife first before he comes back to you.” Sherlock turned his head to look at Anderson who looked frozen with terror “Sally, Anderson isn’t going to leave his wife for you. You’re nothing to him; you’re an easily accessible stress relief. He’s booked a holiday to Cuba with his wife next year. They’re going to renew their vows”

“No” Sally whispered, staring at Anderson and then back to Sherlock “You’re wrong.”

“I noticed his holiday leave request on Lestrade’s desk last week. Along with the wedding ring he put back on when you weren’t in the office” Sherlock shrugged “by all means Sally, continue berating me about John and my sex life because at least we’re happy and together. You’re going to end up a lonely, sad old maid like your Aunty June. She died with 8 cats didn’t she?”

Sally looked as though she wasn’t sure whether to fly at Anderson to claw his eyes out or burst into tears and run from the warehouse. Instead, she lowered her eyes and walked across the crime scene to busy herself with meaningless paperwork.

“Let’s go home” Sherlock muttered to John, taking his doctor by the hand he entwined their fingers and walked from the warehouse into the sunny London streets to hail a cab.

“Are you alright?” John asked when they were finally seated in a cab on their way home.

“Fine” Sherlock smiled, “It felt good.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I'm back! 
> 
> This is a little bit sickfic but nothing substantial. Soft lovemaking and fluff

“Johnnnn?” Sherlock called from his position on his bed. He vaguely remembered John leaving for work earlier in the day but as far as he was aware, it could have been hours or days before. The dull ache in his stomach had gone from an irritation to something which was now causing him a substantial amount of pain; the detective lay on the bed he shared with his lover and wiped away the sweat which had collected on his forehead, upper lip and clavicle. Hearing no reply he cautiously rolled from the mattress and hobbled his way to the bathroom, stopping occasionally to catch his breath and hold his side. Once inside he kicked off his pyjamas and started the shower; standing beneath the water he coughed and retched, desperately holding onto his abdomen as he valiantly held down his stomach contents.

The world went black shortly afterwards.

Mrs Hudson heard a loud bang which caused her to startle from her seat watching morning television. Looking up at the ceiling she rolled her eyes at her noisy tenant; she had become used to the unusual sounds and smells which emanated from 221B but something deep in her stomach told her to go upstairs and investigate the noise. Slipping on her carpet slippers she climbed the steps to Sherlock’s flat and knocked on the door with her usual ‘Woo-Hoo’ greeting; the flat was eerily silent with only the sound of rushing water interrupting the stillness. The landlady knocked on the door and spoke louder but once more was met with silence.

A dull feeling of sickness bubbled in her stomach as she inhaled deeply and opened the bathroom door; Sherlock lay on the floor, his naked body curled in an almost foetal position on the cold tiles.

“Sherlock? Sherlock dear” Mrs Hudson called as she moved quickly to her tenant’s side “Sherlock speak to me!”

Sherlock was unconscious and breathing shallowly as Mrs Hudson checked for a pulse before rushing to grab the phone which was on the counter top. Dialling 9-9-9 she quickly asked for an ambulance before hanging up and calling John.

John was working a double shift in the local A&E department; the day had been ridiculously busy due to the bright and sunny weather which brought with it BBQ burns, sunburn and motorbike accidents. John was in his element working hard and triaging his patients and didn’t have time to check his phone, nor see the twelve missed calls from Sherlock’s number.

Mrs Hudson made a soft sound and hung up the phone before dialling Lestrade. The DI answered in his usual gruff voice but soon softened it at the realisation that it was Mrs H on the phone; Martha quickly explained the situation and insisted that Lestrade contact John. The officer promised he would and hung up just as the paramedics arrived downstairs; Mrs Hudson stood at the top of the stairs and called for them to enter and come up which they promptly did, following the manic landlady they quickly began to treat Sherlock and placed him on a stretcher and back out into the ambulance. Their sirens and lights flashing through the London streets.

* * *

 

John was busy stitching up a motorcyclist who had fallen from his bike when an orderly came rushing towards him saying that somebody was here to see him; John waved the man away and insisted he was almost finished and he would be there soon. The orderly looked nervous and hopped side to side before leaving the cubicle; John reassured his patient that the neat stitches wouldn’t scar and smiled as he finished bandaging the man’s leg.

A commotion from outside the cubicle caught his attention and had his adrenalin pumping as doctors began calling out instructions to nurses; John listened attentively whilst securing the bandage in place. His blood ran cold as he heard a familiar voice begin to speak,

“I found him on the bathroom floor” Mrs Hudson was saying “No, not allergic to anything. His partner should be here but we couldn’t get hold of him”

“Mrs Hudson?” John asked as he quickly rushed from his cubicle and into the larger bay where his landlady stood shaking.

“John! Oh John!” Martha cried, rushing towards her lodger “I found him on the floor. I don’t know what happened”

John rushed to the head of Sherlock’s bed and ran a hand through his still damp hair “Sherlock? Locke can you hear me? Open your eyes”

Sherlock’s eyes fluttered slightly but he couldn’t lift them fully “hurts” he muttered as John entwined their fingers together, uncaring that he was surrounded by his colleagues.

“What hurts love? Tell me?” John ordered.

Sherlock moved his hand to his side and winced at the burning sensation; John pulled back the sheet and pressed at the skin watching as Sherlock gasped and cried out. The doctor turned to his colleagues and immediately began barking orders including scans, blood tests and pain relief to ensure that Sherlock was comfortable as they worked around him.

“I think your appendix has burst love” John soothed as he stroked Sherlock’s hair and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead “We need to prep you for surgery”

“John” Sherlock whispered, his eyes wide and afraid “Don’t let me die”

“Shh, nothing’s going to happen to you, not whilst I’m around” John insisted. He kissed Sherlock softly and turned on his heels to call for an orderly to help push the bed to the theatre where surgeons could remove the infected organ.

* * *

 

Mycroft sat at the side of his brother’s bed once more feeling a sense of Deja vous as he watched a pale and sickly looking Sherlock being fed drugs via IV. The elder Holmes extended his hand and allowed himself a brief moment of contact with his brother’s skin; it had finally begun to warm and was no longer cold and clammy thanks to the doses of antibiotics being pumped around Sherlock’s body. Running his thumb over Sherlock’s knuckles, Mycroft sighed and sat back in his chair.

“Sorry” a voice from the doorway interrupted the peace and quiet and caused Mycroft to startle as he turned to see John looking at the sweet scene.

“It’s fine. I should be leaving” Mycroft insisted as he stood and brushed away imaginary dust from his tailored trousers before turning on his heels and walking towards the door.

“You don’t have to go” John mumbled as he walked to Sherlock’s side and kissed his head.

Sherlock’s eyes fluttered open and the detective struggled to focus on the two men beside him. Blinking until his vision cleared he opened his mouth to speak but found he his tongue was completely dry. John reached for the beaker of water on the bedside table and helped him take a few small sips,

“Wha’ ‘appen’d?” Sherlock grumbled in confusion.

“You collapsed at home and Mrs Hudson rushed you into hospital. Your appendix burst” John soothed, his cool hands resting on Sherlock’s warm forehead. “Why didn’t you tell me you were in pain?”

“I thought I’d pulled something” Sherlock attempted to shrug only to wince at the ache in his abdomen.

“You scared me” John admitted, his voice lowering with unshed tears “I thought I might lose you”

“Don’t be dramatic” Sherlock said sarcastically and rolled his eyes but John could tell it was all bluster. Sherlock had been spooked by his experience and wasn’t sure how to respond to John’s sentimental feelings.

* * *

 

Sherlock was released into John’s care a few days later ( _after various temper tantrums, an escape attempt and two crying nurses)_ and returned to Baker Street with a new wound which would scar. Sherlock hobbled up the stairs to the flat, grasping the bannister tightly as John supported him with an arm carefully wrapped around his waist. The flat smelled like home, like cinnamon and John’s deodorant, the burning wood in the fire and Mrs Hudson’s baking and it suddenly overwhelmed Sherlock until the detective was almost sobbing with relief at being alive and beside John once more.

“Last step” John smiled as he helped Sherlock up and into the living room. Depositing Sherlock onto the sofa; the doctor quickly walked to the kitchen and popped on the kettle before returning to Sherlock’s side.

“Thank you John” Sherlock whispered to the carpet. His cheeks flushing pink as John grinned at him before kissing him passionately.

“You’re welcome” John smiled, “I missed you”

“Missed you too” Sherlock admitted softly, his hand entwining into John’s own.

“Right. We need to get you some pain medication and then you can have a shower so long as we keep your wound clean” John insisted as he stood and grabbed Sherlock’s prescription bottle from the bag in his backpack.

Sherlock took the offered pills and allowed John to help him into the bathroom where the doctor carefully helped his lover strip down naked and climb under the spray. Sherlock sighed happily at the sensation of water sluicing over his sore and grimy body as John knelt by the bathtub and began scrubbing at Sherlock’s legs and feet; moving up slowly he used the loofah to scrub at Sherlock’s skin until it was pink and clean. The younger man retreated into his mind palace with a scowl which was quickly noticed by John,

“Am I hurting?” The doctor asked, ceasing his scrubbing and looking up at Sherlock.

“What?... No… not at all” Sherlock shook his head “I just can’t believe that my appendix burst”

“It’s a fairly common medical occurrence love, just one of those things” John shrugged as he moved to wash Sherlock’s arms and chest; carefully avoiding the waterproof wound dressing.

“That’s not the issue” Sherlock scowled “I can’t believe you didn’t ask If I could have it”

“Have what? The appendix?” John laughed.

“Yes of course!” Sherlock barked “I could have evaluated it under the microscope”

“You almost died, I’m not having the thing that almost killed you in the house” John grumbled playfully.

“Dramatic” Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed exasperatedly towards his lover.

John chuckled under his breath and moved his hand to cup Sherlock’s genitals which had begun to harden at the first opportunity to be alone with his lover for weeks. The pair had been separated for a fortnight whilst Sherlock recovered in hospital; something which had almost killed Sherlock in itself due to the lack of sexual relief. He had become accustomed to at least one orgasm a night which had quickly diminished due to the pain of his incision, the lethargy which followed and the lack of privacy in the hospital.

The pair had attempted a phone sex session ( _the first and only time)_ when Sherlock had started to become nightmarish in his behaviour with the nurses; his need for release causing him to become even more prickly than usual had resulted in John cautiously agreeing to giving dirty talk a try. John had used dirty talk before with a previous partner but he hadn’t felt confident whilst doing it due to his Britishness resistance. It hadn’t gone particularly well.

_“John! Stop laughing!”_

_“Sorry Sherlock, I just… wasn’t expecting that… okay I’m okay. Sorry”_

_“So, I am naked and lying on our bed which used to be just mine”_

_“I can always go back upstairs if you want?”_

_“No. Stop interrupting John. Honestly”_

_“Right, so you’re naked”_

_“Yes. Naked. Id very much like you to touch my penis now”_

_[giggles]_

_“John! Stop laughing!”_

_“Sorry… Sorry, you said penis with your posh voice and sultry tone”_

_“Honestly John, it’s like talking to a teenager”_

“ _I erm… okay so I’m touching your pen…cock.”_

_“Mmmm yes baby, touch me, and make me cum”_

_“Sherlock? Have you been watching porn again?”_

_“Perhaps…”_

_“I can’t do this”_

Sherlock had refused to give into his urge to masturbate whilst locked away in the hospital; although Mycroft had arranged that he be left in a private room, the place wasn’t secure enough for Sherlock to relax into self-gratification. He was terrified of being discovered by a nurse or doctor who would inform the media and ruin everything which he and John had worked so hard for.

Now, standing in the shower of his secure and private bathroom in his home he shared with his lover, he could finally allow his defences to lower and enjoy the sensations which were building with every pass of John’s loofah. Sherlock sighed and arched his back slightly to force more pressure between his rapidly hardening cock and the firm loofah being held by John who looked up amused and cocked his eyebrow.

“Missed me have you?” John grinned as he added more soap to his hand and wrapped it around Sherlock’s shaft, giving it a steady stroke up and down.

“Nggnn” Sherlock mumbled as he grabbed for the shower wall and held on tight, widening his legs to allow John to venture further between his legs towards his testicles and perineum.

Sherlock was leaking profusely now; his precum mixing with the soap to quicken John’s hand which stroked and caressed the purpled head softly. John’s own cock was hardening in his jeans at the scene, although he had been able to pleasure himself in the privacy of the flat, he had missed Sherlock immensely and had taken to smelling one of Sherlock’s robes whilst he masturbated in an attempt to feel closer to his partner.

“John” Sherlock mumbled, his eyes closed and his teeth worrying his lip enough to look painful, “I think perhaps I could do with a proper cleanse…Everywhere”

John understood the meaning but furrowed his brow as he looked up at Sherlock “your wound, I don’t want you to get hurt”

“Then be gentle” Sherlock muttered almost exasperatedly as he widened his stance once more and pleaded with his eyes towards John in the way which he knew John couldn’t withstand.

“If anything, _anything,_ hurts you tell me?” John insisted, watching Sherlock nod happily and quickly.

John grasped the expensive hair conditioner of Sherlock’s and poured some into his hand, dropping the loofah to the bottom of the tub he began stroking behind Sherlock’s bollocks until he reached the furled knot of Sherlock’s entrance. Slowly stroking his finger in circles he waited until Sherlock calmed himself before pushing inside inch by inch, instantly feeling the first pulse of precum flood his own pants as he used his finger pad to press against his lovers prostate.

“John” Sherlock whispered, his voice breathy and desperate as he felt the longed for sensations flooding his body.

“Alright, alright” John smiled, adding a second finger and twisting slightly in the manner which Sherlock enjoyed most. His other hand wrapped itself back around his lover’s shaft to stroke in time with his fingering motions.

Sherlock waivered and almost fell at the pleasurable sensations; something which wasn’t ignored by John who quickly removed his fingers and held Sherlock tightly until he was stable again. The doctor washed away the soap suds before looking up at his lover,

“Come on, into bed” John ordered as he got to his feet and wrapped his arms around Sherlock, uncaring of the water soaking his shirt sleeves.

Sherlock allowed himself to be shepherded into their bedroom and lay onto the bed still wet but feeling much more refreshed. He held out his arms and smiled when John began to strip himself naked before climbing into bed alongside the detective. The pair organised themselves until they were spooned up on their sides, Sherlock’s weight on his good side whilst John’s hands trailed up and down Sherlock’s spine and arse.

“Please John” Sherlock begged, his cheeks and ears flushed pink in desperation.

John nodded and reached for the lube, cautiously pouring some onto his hands and carefully reinserting them inside Sherlock’s body. The younger man keened and moaned at the better angle as John stroked his inner walls in a heavenly parody of lovemaking, stretching him wider with two fingers and then finally a third.

“Are you sure Locke?” John asked, his cock already twitching and red tipped with the need to bury himself inside the detective’s body.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow in defiance which made John giggle; lifting his lover’s leg carefully, John slowly placed his tip at Sherlock’s entrance and began to push. Sherlock whimpered at the stretch which he had missed so much as John’s cock widened his insides with his thick shaft. John watched Sherlock’s face for discomfort whenever they moved but the detective was already lost in sensation as he lifted his leg higher, wincing at the discomfort when the movement pulled against his stitches. John ceased his thrusts only to have Sherlock push himself backwards, impaling himself onto John’s dick until they were touching arse to thigh.

“Fuck, so tight” John growled, his breathing ghosting over Sherlock’s ear as he began a harder rhythm.

The younger man could only groan and whimper as John began to pound into him; carefully measured strokes which rubbed against Sherlock’s prostate without hurting his newest wound in their haste to climax. John wrapped an arm around Sherlock’s waist to grasp his cock only to be slapped away by the detective who gasped “I want to try to cum without you touching me”

John continued his strokes but groaned deeply into Sherlock’s ear “Not everyone can do it”

“I’m so close already” Sherlock mewled, his voice breathy and desperate “please John, please”

John knew he would never be able to deny Sherlock anything when he said please, so removed his hand from Sherlock’s shaft and returned it to the slim hipbones where he could keep hold as he fucked harder and harder, angling their hips so that every thrust was a direct hit against Sherlock’s prostate.

“John” Sherlock keened loudly, “ _oh fuck, oh god, John, John, John”_

The doctor smiled as Sherlock curved his spine and moaned deeply; John quickly placed his hand over the wound dressing to keep it clean as Sherlock’s cock began to twitch and unleash a torrent of white, creamy cum over his pink flushed abdomen. The fluttering of Sherlock’s hole was too much for John who gave a desperate cry and turned Sherlock’s head for a kiss; Sherlock quickly dipped his tongue into John’s mouth and swallowed the orgasmic cry of his mate who filled up Sherlock’s insides with a bloom of warmth which seemed endless.

“I-can’t- believe” John panted, his head resting between Sherlock’s shoulder blades “You-did-that”

Sherlock could only grin and flush prettily at the praise as John wiped his fingers through the creamy streaks which covered Sherlock’s chest and stomach.

“You’re still not forgiven” Sherlock mumbled sleepily,

“For what?” John asked, staring down at his lover.

“I wanted that appendix”


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This goes back to Ch4 a little bit, 
> 
> *SEE*   
> John looked at the dates on the letters and followed the progression of Sherlock around the globe until his letters had stopped in Russia.
> 
> Monday 3rd February,
> 
> Will be meeting contact on the day of the full moon; if no reply by 3rd quarter moon then action has failed. Please ensure all personal property is sent to JW and include contents of safety deposit box.
> 
> If action fails, please ensure JW is safe and secure #1 priority.

John glanced at the brown paper envelope which had been deposited in front of him on the coffee table; Sherlock stood nervously clasping his hands behind his back and rocking side to side as he waited for a reaction from his lover.

“What is it?” John asked, putting down his paperback novel and teacup.

“Have a look” Sherlock nodded towards the package.

John extended his hand and grasped the paper before settling back on the sofa and carefully tearing open the paper. Sherlock removed himself to his chair and steepled his fingers under his chin as he watched John begin to read the papers inside.

The first was a copy of Sherlock’s will; drawn up a week after the fall it bequeathed everything to John in case of his death. Everything from his trust fund to his clothes and jewellery were to be given to John to do with as he pleased; Mycroft had countersigned the document along with a solicitor. The doctor looked over at Sherlock who was sitting silently, watching John’s reaction.

“You left everything to me? Why?” John asked,

“Why wouldn’t I? Even before our relationship turned romantic, you were the most important person in my life” Sherlock shrugged with a slight blush. “And with me almost dying again… I thought you should know”

John pushed his confusion and anger to one side as he pulled the next document from the envelope; this one was the deeds to a small cottage on the outskirts of Suffolk. This too was in John’s name and featured a brochure type folder with pictures of the land, house and all of the information which would be needed.

John blinked twice as he looked at Sherlock; anger, confusion and pure adoration were flowing through his veins as he read through the new information. His fingers strayed to the final document, a sealed envelope with John’s name written on it in Sherlock’s distinctive handwriting. John swallowed hard as he remembered reading the letter Sherlock had sent to Mycroft before his final mission where he was taken hostage; realising that this must have been what was secured in Sherlock’s safety deposit box.

_Dearest John,_

_If you have received this it means that I have died._

_I hope the experience wasn’t traumatic and that I died doing something worthwhile. As you have probably realised by now, I have changed my will in order for you to receive everything of value that I own (except a small amount set aside to help Mrs Hudson through her old age). Mycroft has assured me that he will continue to help you out in any capacity he is needed and will ensure that you live happily and safely now that I am gone._

_John, I hope that in the relatively short time that we have known one another, I haven’t upset you or hurt you in anyway. I am not an easy person to deal with yet you helped me become better; I had never experienced friendship or companionship in the way I experienced with you. You are the best man I have ever met and although I never quite had the courage to tell you exactly how I feel, I think now I would be able to._

_John Watson, You are the greatest, bravest, most inspirational man I have ever met. You made every day a joy and it has been my greatest pleasure to be your friend._

_Eternally yours, in life and death._

John blinked back the tears and ran his fingers over his nose as he desperately attempted to stifle a sniffle of emotion. Placing the letter onto the table he looked over at Sherlock, who was staring at the floor cautiously,

“Sherlock, come here” John insisted confidently.

Sherlock stood and strode towards John, unable to meet his lover’s eye as the doctor suddenly grabbed Sherlock’s thin wrist and pulled him down until the detective was sitting on his lap. Wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s waist he pulled the taller man down and kissed him passionately, their tears flowing freely as John tangled his fingers into Sherlock’s hair and held him tightly.

“You bloody fool” John laughed breathily, his tears soaking his cheeks as he used his thumbs to stroke away Sherlock’s own tears.

“After we talked about retiring to the country at Mummy’s, I wanted you to know… all of it. No more secrets” Sherlock whispered, burying his face into John’s neck.

“No more secrets?” John asked, pulling back slightly and looking up at Sherlock who nodded “Then I have to confess something”

“Did you cheat on me? Are you breaking up with me?” Sherlock asked, panic lacing his words.

“No. Silly arse” John smiled, kissing Sherlock’s plump lips. “I think I want to marry you”

* * *

 

The ceremony was a tiny and intimate affair; the two men married in a small civil service in the local registry office which was witnessed by only Lestrade, Mycroft, Mrs Hudson, Mrs Holmes, Harry, Clara and Molly who dabbed at her eyes tearfully as Sherlock and John spoke their vows solemnly. John choked during _till death us do part_ and squeezed Sherlock’s hand tighter as their matching wedding bands were exchanged and they were declared husbands.

John smiled as he twirled his wedding ring; although married once before he considered that one a practice run for the real love of his life. He remembered the intricate engraving on the inside of their rings; each platinum band had the words _A Historic Love_ written inside.

As the newlyweds left the registry office the first dusting of Christmas snow began to fall causing both Mrs Hudson and Emma Holmes to clap their hands happily and squeal in childish delight as they began attempting to catch snowflakes in their wrinkled hands. John and Sherlock could only watch with a smile as the two elderly women gossiped and giggled together like old friends,

“You are joining us for Christmas?” Emma asked John and Sherlock who had taken a moment to embrace and kiss in the fine dusting of snow.

“We’re going on our sex holi… I mean the honeymoon” Sherlock blushed,

“We won’t be able to go anywhere until after Christmas anyway” John insisted, “It would be an honour to spend it with you”

* * *

 

Christmas Eve was always an exciting time for John who had enjoyed years of family based joy before the deaths of his parents; after meeting Sherlock, his Christmases had revolved around the detective and the small group of friends they made central to their lives. This year however, he was excited to be invited to the Holmes manor for a traditional Holmes family holiday, something he had been excited for since the wedding compared to Sherlock who had sulked constantly.

“But we’re supposed to be on our sex holiday!” the detective had pouted on the way to his childhood home, “I don’t want to spend valuable sex time with Mycroft”

John chuckled deeply and checked the driver of Mycroft’s car was focussed on the road before nuzzling his nose into Sherlock’s neck, pressing soft and breathy kisses along the pale throat, “We can do both. See your mother and have sex”

Sherlock swallowed audibly and closed his eyes as John’s fingers circled up his upper thigh; teasing him cruelly.

“I was thinking” John began,

“Don’t strain yourself” Sherlock mumbled with a smile as John nudged him playfully,

“I was thinking maybe…perhaps… you’d like to take me.”

Sherlock’s brain short circuited for a long moment as the words processed. After almost a year of being together as a _real_ couple, John finally wanted to experience Sherlock inside him; the detective’s brain clicked back online and he was embarrassed to realise he had been staring at his husband in complete silence.

“I take it that’s a yes?” John smiled, kissing Sherlock’s lip softly.

“Umhnggh” Sherlock attempted before simply nodding.

“You’d have to be slow…” John almost moaned, his breath becoming ragged “I’ve never done anything like that before”

“I will” Sherlock nodded, licking his lips.

“It’ll be worth it though” John continued, nibbling on Sherlock’s earlobe “Knowing that nobody else but you can be there. Only you”

Sherlock gave an almost inhuman whine before biting on his lower lip and closing his eyes in embarrassment. John gave another soft smile and turned his eyes to look out at the endless sea of snow covered fields rushing past the window. His stomach bubbled with excitement at finally being ready to give Sherlock his entire body,


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter. Thank you to everyone who commented, gave Kudos and subscribed. You're amazing.
> 
> I have one more story to finish but I'm always open for suggestions. If you don't want to leave a comment, you can add me on Tumblr or on Twitter!

The evening passed with relative calm as the family settled down in the warm study and watched the snow falling outside with a snuff of brandy; Mycroft had arrived before the Holmes-Watson’s but Lestrade had been caught up in London due to a case meaning that he arrived hours later, freezing cold and hungry. Emma had tutted and clucked, insisting on making Greg a warm sandwich to heat him up; Greg smiled gratefully and ate in silence whilst the rest of the family made comfortable conversation in the warmth of the fire.

“You should go to bed” Emma grinned, “Otherwise Father Christmas won’t come”

John chuckled and nudged Sherlock who rolled his eyes “Mother, I’ve known he wasn’t real since I was 4”

“Nonsense” Emma spat playfully, “Who do you think hangs up your Christmas stockings?”

Sherlock attempted to argue but silenced himself when he felt John entwine their fingers together, watching as their matching rings glinted in the firelight.

The Holmes manor was being renovated which resulted in Sherlock and John having to stay in a room beside Mycroft and Greg. The pair had awkwardly glanced at the shared wall but shrugged and insisted that they could be quiet so that they wouldn’t disturb the older Holmes who had already retired with Greg.

Sherlock took his husbands hand in his own and pulled him in for a deep and loving kiss; his free hand running through the sandy blonde hairs which had slowly begun to turn grey in patches. John used his other hand to begin to strip Sherlock from his dress shirt and then pulled away to ensure he could pull off his jumper and shirt together. Sherlock grinned at his lover’s obsession with wearing a vest and quickly pulled that off too leaving both men bare chested in the soft light of their bedroom. The younger man stood behind his lover and ran a hand up and down John’s abdomen whilst trailing kisses up and down John’s neck and throat, kissing the patch of skin beneath John’s ear which immediately made the doctor go weak at the knees. Lowering his head; Sherlock pressed kisses between John’s shoulder blades and allowed his beaky nose to nuzzle against the mottled flesh of John’s exit wound, the wound which had brought the most amazing man to him.

John’s heart beat faster as he pushed himself back onto his partner; he was nervous about opening himself up to Sherlock for the first time and desperately wanted to get the initial stretching over with. Sherlock seemed to be able to feel the tension in John and slowed his touches, teasing the doctor and soothing him whilst dexterously flicking open the button of John’s trousers and wiggling them until they fell straight down around John’s ankles, the plain grey boxer shorts followed immediately afterwards until John was naked and pressing back against a still trouser clad bulge which encased the very hard erection of Sherlock.

Sherlock continued to kiss along John’s neck and throat as his hand circled John’s prick; his thumb rubbing across the slit to smear the plentiful precum over the head as John writhed and his legs almost buckled with absolute bliss of finally having friction in which to rub against. All thoughts of Mycroft and Greg in the next room were forgotten as Sherlock turned John around and latched his lips against John’s own, their tongues meeting for a frenzied and passionate kiss as Sherlock walked his lover backwards towards the bed and the expensive mattress which bumped against John’s knees causing him to fall onto the bed and Sherlock to follow on top with an _oomph._

John’s mind went blissfully blank as he was surrounded by the weight and smell of his detective; the feeling of being completely bound to his husband was almost too emotional and caused the doctor to swallow around the lump in his throat. Sherlock entwined their fingers together and met his lover’s eyes with a knowing smile before softly kissing him.

Sherlock calmed John with gentle kisses until the older man was relaxed enough for Sherlock to return to kissing along John’s skin; starting at his clavicle, Sherlock kissed over John’s pecs and abdomen, along his wrists and upper thighs until he reached John’s twitching and desperate erection. Sherlock blew a hot breath over the tight skin, watching as John hissed and arched his back to the sensation; Sherlock used John’s distracted sighs to his advantage and quickly licked and sucked at the weeping tip of John’s cock.

“Christ” John growled low and desperate.

Sherlock grinned smugly and lowered his lips once more; wrapping his hot, hot mouth around his husband’s flesh he quickly had John teetering on the brink of orgasm. Moving his hand beneath the pillow, Sherlock grasped the small bottle of lube and slicked up his long, musicians fingers and used his middle finger to circle the puckered hole of John’s entrance, listening to the startled gasp of the man above him as he slowly and gently entered. Inch by inch, Sherlock pushed inside; curling his finger he allowed the pad of his finger to softly trace against John’s sensitive prostate before pulling away and repeating the gesture until John was groaning and writhing on the high count cotton sheets. Sherlock used his deductions to tell when John was most relaxed and added a second finger, replacing his lips over the tip of John’s cock and licking at it until John calmed and stopped clenching around the intruding digits. Adding a third was difficult; although Sherlock had always enjoyed bottoming and anal penetration, it was a rare occurrence for John to allow Sherlock to play in this manner which meant that John startled easily and wasn’t used to the overwhelming sensations which flooded his unfucked body. With patience, skill and a lot of soft soothing, Sherlock was soon buried three fingers deep inside his lover,

“Oh… Oh Sherlock” John whispered, his voice filled with something like desperate adoration.

Sherlock smiled, stripped off his trousers and underwear and looked up at his lover; his usually colourless eyes suddenly completely black with desire “Are you sure?”

John nodded and widened his legs; careful not to dislodge Sherlock’s fingers from their position back inside him. Sherlock moved to steady himself and allowed his forehead to rest against John’s as they spent a few, lingering seconds just staring at one another reverently; telling one another every thought and emotion using only their gaze.

Sherlock slowly removed his fingers from John’s hole and placed his prick against the now stretched opening of John’s body; the doctor wrapped his shorter fingers around the base of Sherlock’s skull and let his thumbs trace over the protruding cheekbones. The pair kissed once more; a soft and gentle promise of an embrace which left both men breathless, “breathe deeply” Sherlock insisted softly, his clean hand stroking the shell of John’s ear as he nuzzled into the space between ear and neck.

John followed his husband’s instruction, taking a few long, hard breaths before nodding that he was ready. Sherlock gave one of his genuine, bright smiles as he kissed his lover passionately, moaning and whining as he felt his cock slowly slipping inside somebody for the first time, _not just somebody, but John, his John, his husband, his everything._

John froze; the pain of burning and stretching taking him by surprise as Sherlock pushed inside him inch by inch. His body immediately clenched down on the intruder and an almost imperceptible gasp escaped his lips as he closed his eyes tightly.

“John, come back to me” Sherlock whispered, his eyes suddenly wide and worried as he looked down at John “Do you want me to stop?”

John shook his head and released the breath he wasn’t aware that he had been holding “just kiss me”

Sherlock smiled and let his soft and plump lips brush against John’s as he stilled his body and allowed John to become accustomed to the sensations which flooded his body. Pain, pleasure, happiness, desperation and anxiety washed over him like a tsunami and caused his cock to deflate slightly with worry. After long moments of kissing and stillness; John whispered “okay, easy, careful”

The younger man nodded and pushed further into his lover’s body; stopping every inch until he was fully sheathed inside the hot, hot heat of his lover.

“How does it feel?” Sherlock gasped, his own mind unfurling like a worn tapestry.

“Full” John huffed with a smile “move, slightly”

Sherlock pulled out and cursed himself when his hips began to judder with sensation; he committed the moment to memory as the first time he slipped inside another body, feeling the amazing squeezing sensation massaging and milking his cock. He calmed his breathing as much as possible, spelling out the names of the periodic elements in his head to attempt to prolong his climax and give John what he needs. Sherlock dropped his head to John’s chest, his forehead resting against the cleft between sweaty pecs; the detective smiled when he felt the kitten soft kiss which John pressed against his raven curls, a secret for them to share as they entwined their fingers together beside John’s body.

The doctor eventually started to circle his hips; jolting with a cry when the first bolt of pleasure emanated from Sherlock touching his prostate shot through his entire body, setting his hair on edge and causing all of the tiny hairs on his arms to stand up. Sherlock swallowed the pleasured cry and committed it to his memory palace as he began a tentative rhythm, feeling John clench and flutter around his cock as they moved together. John’s eyes closed tightly at the strange sensations but he doesn’t stop circling his hips, arching his back he pushed at Sherlock’s shoulder to force the detective to sit up slightly to allow John to lift his leg and drape it over Sherlock’s pale shoulder. The younger man licked and kissed along John’s calve as he built a rhythm once more, _harder, faster, deeper._ The sound of the headboard tapping against the wall with their movements sounding like a Metronome of their pleasure, keeping their time and pace.

John’s knew he was close; the full body tingles which emanated from his prostate curled in his abdomen into what promised to be a mind blowing climax; he knew it would take more than prostate stimulation alone to get him off and lowered his hand to wrap around his prick just as Sherlock made the same decision. Their hands bumped against one another causing both men to giggle softly before entwining their fingers around the solid shaft and stroking together as Sherlock increased the pace of his thrusts.

Sherlock desperately held onto his orgasm; the need to feel John flutter around him as he finished the most important thing in his universe at that moment. He held on to the last shred of sanity left to him as he pistoned his hips in and out of his lover’s body and exhaled when he finally felt John stiffen and cry out Sherlock’s name in a high pitched and strangled voice which Sherlock had never heard before. Sherlock could only blink and wail as he watched John throw back his head and begin his climax, sending ribbons of cum covering his own chest and abdomen. Sherlock’s hips shuddered and he gasped as he orgasmed deep inside his husband with a desperate moan and a jerky final thrust. John felt the unfamiliar sensation of warmth blooming inside him and blushed as Sherlock kissed his inner thigh and smiled the most genuine and adorable smile which John had ever seen. The detective looked different; wild haired and bright eyed his cheeks rosy pink and his lips pulled into an enormous grin, he looked vulnerable yet ethereal. When he kissed John, it was so tender and thoughtful, so absolutely perfect and tender that for a moment, John truly believed that his heart might break and he may burst into tears.

The slight pain was numbed by the afterglow of John’s orgasm as Sherlock pulled out of John’s arse and lowered himself to the bed; pulling John alongside him to lay and rest on his shoulder. The detective showered his lover’s face in tiny kisses as the pair caught their breaths, panting and entwining their fingers as they watched the bright white snow fall outside their window.

* * *

 

John cracked open his eyes to a strange sensation coming from his genitals; lifting the cover he looked down to see a nest of raven curls bobbing silently, followed by a pair of azure coloured eyes sparkling up at him,

“Morning Locke” John chuckled, running his fingers through the short curls “what are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” Sherlock scoffed, returning to licking around the swollen glands of John’s prick.

“Why aren’t you asleep? What time is it?” John asked,

“We’ve been asleep about 3 hours” Sherlock shrugged “It’s Christmas, we’re supposed to get up early”

“When you’re a child yes” John chuckled softly, stroking Sherlock’s cheek “Not in your thirties”

Sherlock pouted and rolled his eyes before pulling the covers back to reveal his still naked body; John allowed himself to be shuffled further up the pillows until he was sitting with his back to the headboard with a six foot lanky detective straddling his hips. John kissed his lover and let his hands cup Sherlock’s arse, noticing the tacky wetness which dripped along Sherlock’s thigh,

“Sherlock… what?”

“I prepped, in the bathroom. Too much time” Sherlock waved away John’s comments with a dramatic gesture.

John huffed a laugh and wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s shoulders as the younger man positioned himself over John’s hard and twitching cock. John growled deep and low as Sherlock slowly descended down his shaft, feeling the familiar stretch of John’s cock opening him wide. Sherlock let his head fall back; his dark curls tickling his shoulder blades as he slowly began to rock and circle his hips, John’s hands moved from his position around Sherlock’s shoulders to stroke from neck to buttock, feeling each scar like a braille map of horror. John reached up and kissed his husband softly, stroking his fingers over the silky scars reverently before cupping Sherlock’s arse and beginning a slow and steady rhythm up and down, listening as the detective growled deep and low as his prostate was stimulated directly by John’s tip.

“Oh for goodness sake” a voice through the shared wall made both men giggle childishly. Sherlock bit his lips to stem his laughter, the only outward sign of amusement being their shaking shoulders as the couple valiantly fought against hysterical laughter.

John pulled his hands from Sherlock’s arse and pushed two fingers into Sherlock’s mouth; both to muffle the erotic sounds of the younger man’s noises and also for the sexually explicit picture which Sherlock made when his lips were stretched wide around John’s digits. Sherlock placed one of his hands around the headboard of the bed to stop it banging against the wall and the other against John’s lips, silencing the soft gasps and whimpers which escaped John’s mouth.

Sherlock increased the pace of his thrusts, _harder, faster, deeper, more, more, more._ His pleasured wails muffled behind the squeezed fingers covering his mouth as John desperately tried to silence his lover. Their breathing echoed around the room, soft pants of noise escaping between fingers as they charged towards orgasm, John watched enraptured as Sherlock’s eyes rolled back and his body tensed in a sign that John had come to recognise, his lover is about to cum untouched. John moved his hand from Sherlock’s mouth to pull on his curls sharply, watching Sherlock’s eyes flutter closed as he began his orgasm; streams of cum covering John’s stomach and chest, matting his chest hair as Sherlock bit his lip painfully to stop the scream of ecstasy escaping. The fluttering of his hole forced John to the edge remarkably quickly; the doctor could only give _one, two, three_ more shaky thrusts before he’s over the precipice and flooding Sherlock’s insides with warmth and leaving them both floppy and sated. Kissing one another softly the newlyweds let their foreheads touch before giggling together and stroking one another’s cheeks.

**The Next Morning,**

“Good Morning Mycie. Merry Christmas” Emma Holmes said with a beaming smile as she fixed herself a slice of toast. She had allowed the staff the weekend off in order to spend it with their own families.

Mycroft frowned angrily and poured himself a dark coffee; his eyes bleary and his mood as black as his drink. “It would be if I actually managed to sleep” Mycroft sneered “Why must Sherlock stay in the room beside us? Gregory and I hardly got any sleep due to Sherlock and John’s _noise”_

Emma flushed pink around the cheeks and ears as she tutted and raised an eyebrow “and I suppose when you and Gregory make love, you do it in absolute silence do you?”

Mycroft grimaced and flushed, glaring out of the window as he spoke “Change the subject, please mother. I just thought he would be more considerate.”

Mrs Holmes scoffed and swatted Mycroft with her dish towel, smiling warmly at her eldest child “Hush you, your baby brother is in love and I won’t hear another word about it. You should be happy for him”

“Be happy for whom?” Sherlock asked as he sauntered into the kitchen, his hair frizzed and unkempt and his cheeks flushed. “Merry Christmas Mummy” the detective walked to his mother’s side and kissed her cheek softly.

“Apparently I should be happy for you” Mycroft sneered “I apparently have to congratulate you for keeping myself and Gregory awake with your dreadful caterwauling”

Sherlock could only smile coyly as he poured himself and John a cup of coffee.

“Married life suits you dear” Emma grinned, stroking a hand through Sherlock’s hair and kissing his cheek “You’re positively beaming”

“I rather think it does” Sherlock agreed with a happy grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thats that! Thank you all so much xx


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